












































































































































































































































































































































































































































/ff* 





















H ° { 








... 













. 






















































































































































o 

' //r/ / // /', 


/ 




'// /// 


/'//// ^ 




// / 















MEMOIRS 


THE BEAUTIES 

OF TUB 

COURT OF CHARLES THE SECOND, 

\ 

WITH 


THEIR PORTRAITS, 

AFTER SIR PETER LELY AND OTHER EMINENT PAINTERS : 


ILLUSTRATING 


THE DIARIES OF PEPYS, EVELYN, CLARENDON, 


AND OTHER CONTEMPORARY WRITERS. 


y 

BY MRS. JAMESON. 


NE W-YORK: 

D. APPLETON k COMPANY, 200 BROADWAY. 


MDCCCLII. 































ADVERTISEMENT. 


In offering to the public a new edition of Mrs. Jameson's popular 
biographies of the u Beauties of the Court of Charles the Second/' 
the publisher has endeavoured, in every possible way, to make it 
worthy of a still more extended patronage than that which has 
been already accorded to it. With this view, he has not only 
printed it in a more convenient form, but has caused it to be 
enlarged by considerable additions, both to the notes and text, and 
by an introductory Essay on the reign and character of Charles II. 
The Portraits have for the most part been re-engraved, and are 
restored to their original brilliancy. He trusts that the efforts 
thus made, will be received with the favour which it has been his 
object to merit. 







EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION 


TO 

THE SECOND EDITION. 


“ A prince like a pear, which rotten at core is, 

With a court that takes millions, and yet as Job poor is.” 

Old Song. 


The Court of Charles the Second is very properly illustrated by 
the portraits of his ladies. It was by their secret influence that 
the most important affairs of state were directed, at their all- 
powerful nod ministers rose or fell, by their contrivance were 
effected foreign treaties, and the most weighty decisions of war or 
peace were determined by their intermediation. In the weak mind 
and hollow heart of Charles, a Castlemaine or a Portsmouth might 
always gain the mastery over the integrity of a Clarendon or an 
Ormond. It happens but too frequently, that when female influence 
is thus predominant in the cabinet, it is exercised by the worst 
portion of the fairer sex, and this was eminently the case in 
Charles's days, the avarice of whose mistresses rohbed the country 
of its resources, and reduced the king himself to a disgraceful de- 
pendency on France. Along with foreign finery came in foreign 
licentiousness, and the court of Charles the Second, in this latter 
respect, presents a strong contrast to the stern morality of that of 
Cromwell. Fortunately, the debauchery of the gay cavaliers, and 

a 



11 


EDITOR’S INTRODUCTION. 


the lax virtue of the dames of Louis XIV., were too grating’ to 
the public feelings to take firm root in England ; and, whilst the 
nation went on gradually increasing and improving upon the 
refinements which were now introduced, a few years saw the more 
objectionable fashions which had accompanied them, disappear. 

The joy which seemed to hail the accession of Charles to the 
throne of his father, was but the gleamy sunshine which often 
ushers in a gloomy overclouded day. Many people, tired of the 
uncertainties which had for some time filled their minds, hailed a 
change which seemed to promise them some settled government. 
The King was not brought’ in by the strength of his own party, 
hut rather by the dissatisfaction of those unquiet people, who, 
irritated because the government was not moulded according to 
their own ideas and influenced by themselves, hastened the recall 

V 

of the exiled monarch, that they might at least see the overthrow 
of the party of which they were jealous. They bore no love to 
Charles in their hearts, hut they shouted at his elevation, because 
it was the downfall of the Protectorate. The leading men seized 
the occasion which they saw presented, and made their own ad¬ 
vantage of it, by making their peace with the exile, and hurrying 
his restoration. Put many of his best friends, who knew well his 
incapacity for the throne to which he was called, were not without 
their fears of the future. Yet there were not wanting many also, 
who, in the warmth of their zeal, thought the joy of every body 
was as sincere as their own. 

“ This day,” ( 29 th May,) says Evelyn, u his majestie Charles 
the Second came to London, after a sad and long exile and calami¬ 
tous suffering, both of the King and church, being 17 years. This 
was also his birth-day, and with a triumph of above 20,000 horse 
and foote, brandishing their swords and shouting with inexpressible 
joy 5 the wayes strew’d with flowers, the belles ringing, the streetes 
hung with tapistry, fountaines running with wine ; the maior, 
aldermen, and all the companies in their liveries, chaines of gold, 
and banners lords and nobles clad in cloth of silver, g’old, and 


editor’s introduction. 


Ill 


velvet; the windowes and balconies all set with ladies; trumpets, 
music, and myriads of people flocking’, even so far as from 
Rochester, so as they were seven houres in passing- the citty, even 
from Q in the afternoone till 9 at night. 

<D 

u I stood in the Strand and beheld it, and bless’d God. And 
all this was don without one drop of bloud shed, and by that very 
army which rebelled against him ; but it was the Lord’s doing, for 
such a restauration was never mention’d in any history, ancient or 
modern, since the returne of the Jewes from the Babylonish cap- 
tivity; nor so joy full a day and so bright ever seene in this nation, 
this hapning when to expect or effect it was past all human 
policy.”* 

The night of this day, which drew forth so abundantly the pious 
thanksgivings of John Evelyn, the King passed in the company 
of Mrs. Palmer, so soon afterwards notorious as the Duchess of 
Cleveland ; and immediately after, he issued a proclamation against 
debauchery. Pepys observes on the 4 th of June, u This morning 
the King’s proclamation against drinking, swearing, and debauch- 
ery, was read to our ships’ companies in the fleet, and indeed it 
gives great satisfaction to all.” 

The members of Charles’s first administration were partly his 
staunch friends, who had followed him in his misfortunes, as 
Ormond, Hyde, (created soon after Earl of Clarendon,) and partly 
some of his new friends, who had at least the reputation of having- 
been chiefly instrumental in his restoration, such as Monk, whom 
he created Duke of Albemarle, and Montague, created Earl of 
Sandwich. They were generally men who possessed, in comparison 
with his other favourites, and of those who succeeded them, a con¬ 
siderable degree of integrity or ability. Pepys gives us a curious 
insight into the temporizing jiolicy of Sandwich ( u his lord,” as he 
styles him,) during the negotiations for the King’s return, and 


* Evelyn’s Diary, vol. ii. p. IIS. 


IV 


editor’s introduction. 


confesses that he learnt, in a conversation with him, that as to 
religion he was “ wholly sceptical.” On another occasion Pepys 
speaks of him as going' further than became him in flattering* the 
Kind’s vices. There can be no doubt, however, that Sandwich 
possessed sufficient, virtue to render him obnoxious to the King’s 
more immediate companions, and he gradually fell into disfavour 
and disgrace, till at last he was slain, fighting bravely, in the great 
sea-fight in the May of 1 G 72 . On this occasion, Evelyn bursts 
into a flood of eloquence in lamenting the loss of his friend : u My 
Lord Sandwich was prudent as well as valiant, and always 
govern’d his affaires with successe and little losse ; he was for de¬ 
liberation and reason, they (Monk and Lord Clifford) for action and 
slaughter without either; and for this, whisper’d as if my Lord 
Sandwich was not so gallant because he Avas not so rash, and kneAv 
how fatal it Avas to loose a fleete, such as Avas that under his con¬ 
duct, and for which these very persons Avould have censur’d him. 
Deplorable was the losse of one of the best accomplish’d persons, 
not onely of this nation, but of any other. He Avas learned in sea 
affaires, in politics, in mathematics, and in music; he had been 
on divers embassies, Avas of a SAveete and obliging temper, sober, 
chast, very ingenious, a true nobleman, an ornament to the court 
and his prince, nor has he left any behind him Avho approach his 
many virtues.”* 

Edward Hyde, created soon afterwards Earl of Clarendon, Avas 
certainly a man of great ability ; but he was not popular, and in 
the political songs of the da} r he is accused of unbounded avarice. 
Charles supported him, both in gratitude for a long* series of faith¬ 
ful services, and because he thought that no other person was so 
capable of supporting' the lhestoration, and of enlarging the limits 
of his regal poAver. 

Clarendon Avas virtually the head of the administration with 
which Charles began his reign, and which aa as indeed kept together 


* Evelyn’s Diary, vol. ii. p. 370. 


editor’s introduction. 


V 


almost entirely by his influence, for the King’s favour was bestowed 
secretly on men of a very different character and reputation. 
Charles had become gradually more and more the slave of Lady 
Castlemaine, and left his ministers to follow their own counsels 
whilst he spent his time with buffoons and debauchees ; and his 
courtiers, who were preparing* under female influence to stand at 
the head of the government, thought of nothing* but fine clothes 
and petty intrigues. The want of personal security which every 
body felt under the Restoration, drove even the best men to con¬ 
sider only of making* their profit of the present moment. Who 
can help smiling* at the fears of Pepys, which he avows with so 
much naivete in the November of 1660 , on the occasion of a din¬ 
ner at Sir William Batten’s ?— u Here dined with us two or three 
more country gentlemen; among* the rest Mr. Christmas, my old 
school-fellow, with whom I had much talk. He did remember 
that I was a great Roundhead when I was a boy, and I was much 
afraid that he would have remembered the words that I said the 
day the King was beheaded, (that, were I to preach upon him, 
my text should be, ( The memory of the wicked shall rot;’) but I 
found afterwards that he did go array from school before that 
time!” 


I11 the August following, Pepys, who had hailed with so much 
satisfaction the blessings which at its outset, little more than a year 
before, the Restoration seemed to promise, observes of the state of 
things ,— u At court things are in a very ill condition, there being* so 
much emulacion, poverty, and the vices of drinking, swearing, and 
loose amours, that I know not what will be the end of it, but con¬ 
fusion. And the clergy so high, that all people that I meet with 
do protest against their practice. In short, I see no content or 
satisfaction any where, in any one sort of people.” 

In the October of 1662 , when the Chancellor (Clarendon) had 
lost not a little of what popularity he had, by the marriage of his 
daughter with the Duke of York, and by the part he had taken in 
the marriage of the King* and in the reconciliation of the Queen 


VI 


editor’s introduction. 


with Lady Castlemairie ; and when the influence of this termagant 
lady had been doubly strengthened by the Queen’s submission, the 
administration which had been formed around Lord Clarendon 
began to give way. The Secretary of State, Sir Edward Nicholas, 
a man of great integrity, and one of the faithfullest friends of the 
King as well as of his father, was sacrificed to make place for Sir 
H. Bennet, afterwards known as the Earl of Arlington, a creature 
of Lady Castlemaine. The privy-purse was at the same time given 
to the custody of Sir Charles Berkeley, “ a most vicious person, 
and one,” sa} T s Pepys, u whom Mr. Pierce, the surgeon, did tell 
me that he offered his wife 300 /. per annum to be his mistress. 
He also told me, that none in court had more the King’s eare now 
than Sir Charles Berkeley, and Sir H. Bennet, and my Lady 
Castlemaine.” 

In its foreign negotiations, the government of Charles the 
Second made a very different figure from that which had always 
been sustained by England during the Protectorate. Early in the 
new reign, the advantages which had been obtained by the latter 
were sold for money to supply the extravagance of the court. The 
parliament, at first so compliant with the King, became soon dis¬ 
satisfied with his conduct, and distrustful of him, and gave him 
but small supplies, and that not without making many difficulties; 
the more so, because they saw that the ministers themselves were 
intent only upon filling their own purses as quickly as possible. 
It was observed in 10 G 5 , “for my Lord Treasurer, he minds his 
ease and lets things go how they will; if he can have his 8000 /. 
per annum and a game at l’ombre, he is well. My Lord Chancellor, 
he minds getting of money and nothing else ; and my Lord Ashly 
(the Chancellor of the Exchequer) will rob the devil and the altar, 
but he will get money if it be to be got,” The mass of the people 
was equally distrustful as the parliament, and the assessments were 
collected with difficulty;* so that between the extravagant profusion 


* On the 9th November, 1663, Pepys gives an interesting account of the dif¬ 
ference between Cromwell’s soldiery, who had been disbanded, and those of the 


editor’s introduction. 


VII 


of the King- and the unwillingness of the people to pay, the 
revenue of the kingdom was in a very low condition. The ministers 
therefore dreaded a war, when they had not sufficient money even 
to supply the private expenditure of the King, and the debts of 
the court were becoming* continually heavier and more galling. 

In 1065, the Dutch war broke out. The people of England 
were extremely irritated against the Hollanders, and a very large 
supply was voted by the parliament for the carrying* on of the war. 
On the part of the English, the war was ill managed in every 
department. The court was too busy about its own pleasures to 


King, and describes the difficulties of getting in the revenue. “ He (Mr. Black - 
burne) tells me, that the King, by name, with all his dignities, is prayed for by 
them that they call Fanatiques, as heartily and powerfully as in any of the other 
churches that are thought better : and that, let the King think what he will, it is 
them that must help him in the day of warr. For so generally they are the most 
substantiall sort of people, and the soberest; and did desire me to observe it to 
my Lord Sandwich, among other things, that of all the old army, now you cannot 
see a man begging about the streets ; but what ? You shall have this captain 
turned a shoemaker ; the lieutenant, a baker ; this, a brewer ; that, a haberdasher ; 
this common soldier, a porter; and every man in his apron and frock, &c., as if 
they never had done anything else ; whereas the other go with their belts and 
swords, swearing, and cursing, and stealing; running into people’s houses, by 
force oftentimes, to carry away something; and this is the difference between 
the temper of one and the other; and concludes (and I think with some reason) 
that the spirits of the old parliament soldiers are so quiet and contented with 
God’s providences, that the King is safe from any evil meant him by them, one 
thousand times more than from his own discontented cavaliers. And then to the 
publick management of business : it is done, as he observes, so loosely and so 
carelessly, that the kingdom can never be happy with it, every man looking after 
himself, and his own lust and luxury ; and that half of w'hat money the parlia¬ 
ment gives the King is not so much as gathered. And to the pui’pose he told 
me how the Bellamys (who had some of the northern counties assigned them for 
their debt for the petty-warrant victualling) have often complained to him that 
they cannot get it collected, for that nobody minds, or if they do, they won’t pay 
it in. Whereas (which is a very remarkable thing) he hath been told by some of 
the treasurers at warr here of late, to whom the most of the 120,000/. monthly 
was paid, that for most months the payments were gathered so duly, that they 
seldom had so much or more than 40s. or the like, short in the whole collection.” 


Ylll 


editor’s introduction. 


allow its attention to be given to public business ; the money was 
ill applied ; and, after the King* had squandered the enormous sum 
of 2,890,000/. amongst his mistresses and favourites, the war 
ended, in 1067, with disgrace. It is recorded, that when the 
Dutch fleet was employed in destroying the shipping in the Thames 
and the Medway, and threatening a still more serious invasion, 
Charles was employed with Lady Castlemaine in the interesting* 
sport of hunting a moth ! 

Much of this waste of resources and ill management, was laid to 
the venality of Sir William Coventry, the treasurer of the navy. 
Denham, in one of his political poems, describes him as— 

“ Cerulian Coventry, 

Keeper, or rather chancellor, of the sea. 

To pay his fees the silver trumpet spends, 

And boatswain’s whistle for his place depends ; 

Pilots in vain repeat their compass o’er, 

Until of him they learn that one point more, 

The constant magnet to the pole doth hold, 

Steel to the magnet, Coventry to gold. 

Muscovy sells us pitch, and hemp, and tar; 

Iron and copper, Sweden ; Munster, war; 

Ashly, prize ; "Warwick, custom ; Carteret, pay ; 

But Coventry doth sell the fleet away.” 

But the tide of unpopularity, raised by the disadvantageous 
peace, after so much money and blood had been expended, fell 
heaviest on Lord Clarendon. Lady Castlemaine, who hated him 
because he had obstructed some of her extravagant whims, gave 
the Kino* no rest till the Chancellor was dismissed from his office : 

O / 

and then Charles’s worthless companions congratulated him on 
being, at last, his own master. 

Pepys has entered in his Diary a conversation with Evelyn in 
the spring of this year, (1667,) before the peace and the fall of the 
Chancellor, which gives a curious picture of the weak conduct of 
the a merry King.”* 

* Pepys, vol. iii. p. 201. 



editor’s introduction. 


IX 


u Then/’ says lie, u I took a turn with Mr. Evelyn ; with whom 
I walked two hours, till almost one of the clock: talking* of the 
badness of the government, where nothing* hut wickedness, and 
wicked men and women, command the King-: that it is not in his 
nature to gainsay any thing* that relates to his pleasure; that 
much ol it arises from the sickliness of our Ministers of State, who 
cannot be about him as the idle companions are, and therefore he 
gives way to the young rogues; and then from the negligence of 
the clergy, that a bishop shall never be seen about him, as the King 
ol France hath always \ that the King would fain have some of 
the same g’ang* to he Lord Treasurer, which would he } r et worse, 
for now some delays are put to the getting gifts of the King, as 
Lady Byron, who had been, as he called it, the King’s seventeenth 
mistress abroad, did not leave him till she had g*ot him to give her 
an order for 4000/. worth of plate to be made for her; but by 
dela} r s, thanks be to God ! she died before she had it. * * * 

And Mr. Evelyn tells me of several of the menial servants of the 
court lacking bread, that have not received a farthing* wages since 
the King*’s coming* in. He tells me the King- of France hath his 
mistresses, hut laughs at the foolery of our King, that makes his 
bastards princes, and loses his revenue upon them, and makes his 
mistresses his masters. And the King of France did never grant 
Lavaliere any thing to bestow* on others .”— u By the way,” adds 
Pepys, a he tells me that of all the great men of England there is 
none that endeavours more to raise those that he takes into favour 
than my Lord Arlington * and that on that score, he is much more 
to be made one’s patron than my Lord Chancellor, (Clarendon,) 
who never did, nor never will do any thing, but for money.” 

After the fall of Clarendon, all who would obtain great places 
were obliged to conciliate u Bab May, my Lady Castlemaine, and 
that w’icked crew.” The King* was, however, in a difficult 
position ‘ his parliament had been called together, and dismissed 
w ith the greatest dissatisfaction, and the whole country w r as in a 
ferment. Everybody disliked the peace; but no one wished for 
the continuation of war, because they saw that it was so ill 


X 


editor’s introduction. 


managed that it could bring nothing but disgrace. The govern¬ 
ment was deeply in debt; and the King was distressed for want of 
money; yet he dared not to call a parliament to vote supplies. 
At the same time, he loved too much his ease and his jffeasures to 
take any decisive steps to make himself independent of his parlia¬ 
ment, and he was continually vacillating between different counsels. 
Sometimes he was determined to send away Lady Castlemaine 
with a pension, and to conciliate the parliament; at others, his 
turbulent mistress hectored him into obedience to, and his heartless 
courtiers laughed him into acquiescence in, worse advice. The 
sacrifice which he pretended to make to the parliament, but which 
in reality arose from other feelings, the disgrace of the Lord 
Chancellor, only served to render himself contemptible. Yet amid 
all this public dissatisfaction, and much public misery, the King 
was still “ merry.” Pepys, the valuable and amusing commentator 
on this reign, tells us a story in September, 1607, “how merry 
the King and Duke of York and court were the other day, when 
they were abroad a-hunting. They came to Sir G. Carteret’s 
house at Cranbourne, and there were entertain’d, and all made 
drunk; and being all drunk, Armerer did come to the King, and 
swore to him by G—, f Sir,’ says he, c you are not so kind to the 
Duke of York of late as you used to be.’— f Not I V says the King, 
‘ why so V— c Why,’ says he, c if you are, let us drink his health.’— 
‘ Why let us,’ says the King. Then he fell on his knees and 
drank it; and having done, the King began to drink it. ‘ Nay, 
sir,’ says Armerer, ‘ by G—, you must do it on your knees !’ So 
he did, and then all the company: and having- done it, all fell 
a-crying for joy, being all maudlin and kissing one another, the 
King the Duke ot York, and the Duke of York the King* and in 
such a maudlin pickle as never people were: and so passed the 
day.” # 

Up to this period, the public advisers of the King had been 
constantly changing for the worse ; and at the time of Clarendon’s 
impeachment, even Arlington and Coventry had fallen into some 

* Pepys, vol. iii. pp. 362, 363. 


editor’s INTRODUCTION. xi 

disfavour, and Buckingham and Bristol, two men devoid equally 
of principle or ability, were his chief counsellors. Buckingham 
had but recently been liberated from the Tower, at the command 
rather than persuasion of Lady Castlemaine, who called his sacred 
majesty a fool; but it was no long time after this that the minister 
showed his gratitude, by exerting all his power against the 
imperious mistress; and she also fell into disfavour, though it was 
only to make way for a still more shameless successor. 

The cabal which governed after Clarendon’s fall, was composed 
of men entirely unfit for any other business but that of adminis¬ 
tering to the King’s pleasures. The Diary of Pepys contains 
many sneers at the ignorance and imbecility which they exhibited 
in council. In proportion with the weakness of the court, the 
boldness and resoluteness of the House of Commons increased, and 
the session in which Clarendon was banished struck such a fear 
into all the courtiers, that they did not dare to face another for a 
long time, and were in continual apprehensions.* Multitudes of 
people, who had been the warmest advocates of the Restoration, 
began to regret the days of the Commonwealth, and the very 
members of the House of Commons, in their speeches, frequently 
contrasted the acts of Charles’s government with those of Cromwell, f 

* In 1668, Pepys observes, “It is pretty to see how careful these great men 
are to do every thing so as they may answer it to the parliament, thinking them¬ 
selves safe in nothing but where the judges (with whom they often advise) do say 
the matter is doubtful; and so they take upon themselves then to be the chief 
persons to interpret what is doubtful.”—Pepys, vol. iv. p. 119. 

f Feb. 14, 1667-8. “ Secretary Morrice did this day, in the House, when they 
talked of intelligence, say that he was allowed but 700/. a-year for intelligence: 
whereas, in Cromwell’s time, he did allow 70,000/. a-year for it; and was 
confirmed therein by Colonell Birch, who said that thereby Cromwell carried the 
secrets of all the princes of Europe at his girdle.”— Pepys, iii. 41. Feb. 17. 
“ Great high words in the House. . . . The King’s bad intelligence was 
mentioned, wherein they were bitter against my Lord Arlington, saying, among 
other things, that whatever Morrice’s was, who declared he had but 750/. a-year 
allowed him for intelligence, the King paid too dear for my Lord Arlington’s, in 
giving him 10,000/. and a barony for it.”—iii. 42. Feb. 21. “ The House this 


Nil 


editor’s introduction. 


Buckingham, now the King’s favourite and chief minister, was a 
mad debauchee, as destitute of ability as of conduct. While 
Prime Minister of the crown, he had seduced the Countess of 
Shrewsbury, and kept her as his mistress. The earl challeng*ed 
him, and each came to the field with two companions, one of whom 
was killed on the spot, and Shrewsbury received a wound of which 
he died shortly after. From this time he lived publicly with the 
countess. In the May of 1668, Pepys notes that a the Countesse 
of Shrewsbery is brought home by the Duke of Buckingham to 
his house ; where his duchesse saying that it was not for her and 
the other to live together in a house, he answered, ( Why, madam, 
I did think so, and therefore have ordered your coach to be ready 
to carry you to your father’s which was a devilish speech, but, 
they say, true; and my Lady Shrewsbery is there, it seems.” 
Four months after this, we have an anecdote hig’hly characteristic 
of the unbounded arrogance and insolence of this minister, then in 
the plenitude of his power. u Buckingham now rules all; and 
the other day, in the King*’s journey he is now in, at Bag*shot and 
that way, he caused Prince Rupert’s horses to be turned out of 
an inne, and caused his own to be kept there, which the prince 
complained of to the King, and the Duke of York seconded the 
complaint j hut the King did over-rule it for Buckingham, by 
which there are high displeasures among them ; and Buckingham 
and Arlington rule all.” 

Amidst the senseless measures of his ministers, and the in¬ 
creasing* indignation of his people, Charles still lived easily and 
(< merrily” with his vicious and debasing companions. The 
squabbles of his mistresses caused more troubles than the dangers 
of the state. A ridiculous circumstance happened at court in the 

day is still as backward for giving any money as ever, and do declare they will 
first have an account of the disposals of the last Poll-bill and eleven months’ tax. 
And it is pretty odde, that the very first sum mentioned in the account brought 
in by Sir Robert Long of the disposal of the Poll-bill money, is 50007. to my 
Lord Arlington for intelligence ; which was mighty unseasonable, so soon after 
they had so much cried out against his want of intelligence.”—Yol. iii. 46. 


editor’s introduction. xiii 

be ginning of* 1GG0, "which caused hot bloody find raised lngli 
factions, a even to the sober engaging* of great persons .”— u It is 
about my Lady Harvy’s being offended at Doll Common’s acting 
of Sempronia, to imitate her ; for which she got my Lord Cham¬ 
berlain, (the Duke of Buckingham,) her kinsman, to imprison 
Doll: upon which my Lady Castlemaine made the King to release 
her, and to order her to act it again worse than ever, the other 
day, where the King* himself was; and since it was acted again, 
and my Lady Harvy provided people to hiss her, and fling- 
oranges at her; but it seems the heat is come to a great height, 
and real troubles at court about it.” 

The ambition of the King’s ministers, and the apprehensions of 
future retribution for the many extravagant and criminal measures 
of which they had been the authors, drove them to seek gratification 
and safety by desperate projects. The invaluable Diary of Pepys, 
which throws so much light both on the temper of the people, and 
on the secret intrigues of the court, closes with the year 1009; 
but during that year we find several notices, which show that the 
measures which were only fully developed a few years later, had 
already been privately resolved. The King and his ministers had 
conciliated no party in the state ; the latter could only escape 
punishment so long as they kept the power to avoid, or rather 
delay it, in their own hands, and there was nothing they feared 
so much as the meeting of parliament. On the 21st of April, 
Pepys observes, u Sir H. Cholmley told me that now the great 
design of the Duke of Buckingham is to prevent the meeting, 
since he cannot bring about with the King* the dissolving* of this 
parliament, that the King may not need it; and therefore my Lord 
St. Albans (the ambassador in France) is hourly expected, with 
great offers of a million of money, to buy our breach with the 
Dutch * and this, they do think, may tempt the King to take the 
money, and thereby be out of a necessity of calling* the parliament 
again, which these people dare not suffer to meet again : but this 
he doubts, and so do I, that it will be the ruin of the nation if we 
fall out with Holland.” 


XIV 


editor’s introduction. 


On the 28th of the same month; Pepys learned in conversation 
with the same person, u that it is brought almost to effect, the late 
endeavours of the Duke of York and Duchesse, the Queene-mother,* 
and my Lord St. Albans, together with some of the contrary 
faction, as my Lord Arlington, that for a sum of money we shall 
enter into a league with the King of France, wherein, he says, my 
Lord Chancellor'!' is also concerned ; and that he believes that in 
the doing* hereof, it is meant that he shall come in again, and that 
this sum of money will so help the King, as that he will not need 
the parliament; and that in that regard, it will he forwarded by 
the Duke of Buckingham and his faction, who dread the parlia¬ 
ment. But hereby we must leave the Dutch, and that I doubt 
will undo us.” 

That Louis XIY. was at this time preparing to make Charles 
an instrument of his all-grasping ambition there is no doubt, and 
it was not many months after that a secret treaty was entered 
into, by which the King and his ministry hoped to make themselves 
independent of the parliament. Yet the only thing which Charles 
really gained by the alliance was a new mistress, the too celebrated 
Duchess of Portsmouth. Besides the prospect it afforded of the 
ultimate gratification of their ambition, the English courtiers seem 
pretty generally to have filled^their pockets with French money, 
and a war with Holland was resolved on. The first act of hos¬ 
tilities was an unprovoked and disgraceful aggression on the part 
of the King of England. In the beginning- of 1072, before any 
war had been commenced or proclaimed, the King- sent out what 
can be considered as no better than a piratical expedition to seize 
on the Dutch Smyrna fleet, which was said to be worth a million 
and a half of money. The avarice of the King was excited by the 
richness of the prize; and so little scrupulous was he or his agents 
in the means they employed to effect their purpose, that the Dutch 
officers were invited on board the English fleet to a friendly repast, 

* Henrietta Maria, who is said to have been secretly married to the Duke of 
St. Albans. 

t Clarendon, who was living in banishment. 


editor’s introduction. 


XV 


that their convoy might he seized with the less difficulty. But the 
latter were on their guard; the English were repulsed; and the 
expedition ended in nothing but disgrace. Another arbitrary 
measure to obtain money; the closing of the Exchequer, ruined 
thousands of his subjects, and destroyed entirely the confidence of 
the merchants and moneyed men. 

u Now/’ says Evelyn, (a zealous royalist,) on the 12th of March, 
u w as the first blow r given by us to the Dutch convoy of the 
Smyrna fleete, by Sir Robert Holmes and Lord Ossorie, in which 
we received little, save blow’s and worthy reproach, for attacking 
our neighbours ere any war was proclaim’d ) and then pretending 
the occasion to be, that some time before, the Merlin yatcht 
chancing to saile thro’ the whole Dutch fleete, their Admiral did 
not strike to that trifling vessel. Surely this was a quarrel 
slenderly grounded, and not becoming Christian neighbours. We 
are like to thrive accordingly. Lord Ossorie several times deplor’d 
to me his being engaged in it; he had more justice and honour 
than in the least to approve of it, tho’ he had been over persuaded 
to the expedition.* There is no doubt but we should have sur¬ 
priz’d this exceeding* rich fleete, had not the avarice and ambition 
of Holmes and Sprag separated themselves, and wilfully divided 
our fleete, on presumption that either of them was strong enough 
to deale with the Dutch convoy without joyning and mutual help ; 
but they so warmly plied our divided fleets, that whilst in conflict 
the merchants sailed aw ay, and got safe into Holland. 

u A few daies before this, the Treasurer of the Household, Sir 
Tho. Clifford, hinted to me as a confident, that his majesty w r ould 

* Evelyn lias again, on another occasion, recorded the indignation of the 
gallant and virtuous Earl of Ossory at this action. “ One thing more let me note, 
that he often express’d to me the abhorrence he had of that base and unworthy 
action which he was put upon, of engaging the Smyrna fleete in time of peace, in 
which tho’ he behav’d himself like a greate captain, yet he told me it was the 
onely blot in his life, and troubled him exceedingly. Though he was commanded, 
and never examin’d further when he was so, yet he always spoke of it with regret 
aud detestation.”—Yol. iii. p. 31. 


XVI 


editor’s introduction. 


shut up the Exchequer, (and accordingly his majesty made use of 
infinite treasure there, to prepare for an intended rupture); but, 
says he, it will soone be open againe and every body satisfied; for 
this bold man, who had been the sole adviser of the King to invade 
that sacred stock, (tho’ some pretend it was Lord Ashley’s counsel, 
then Chancellor of the Exchequer,) was so over confident of the 
successe of this unworthy designe against the Smyrna merchants, 
as to put his majesty on an action which not onely lost the hearts 
of his subjects, and ruined many widows and orphans whose stocks 
were lent him, but the reputation of his exchequer for ever, it being* 
before in such credit, that he might have commanded halfe the 
wealth of the nation. 

<e The credit of this bank being thus broken, did exceedingly 
discontent the people, and never did his majesty’s affairs prosper 
to any purpose after it, for as it did not supply the expense of the 
meditated war, so it mealted away, I know not how .” 

With the exception of Buckingham, the King’s ordinary com¬ 
panions, such as Rochester, Killigrew, &c., were men who never 
troubled him with business, or meddled in it themselves, and their 
names seldom appear in history. Charles was a man who cared 
too much for his own interest to think for a moment of that of any 
body else, but he was too intent on his pleasures even to take the 
trouble to look after his interest. Hence he left all to the manage¬ 
ment of his favourites. When, however, to secure his own ease, 
he found it necessary to conciliate his parliament, he never scrupled 
a moment to sacrifice his best favourite to attain his end. The 
cabal which governed after Clarendon’s fall, hoped to secure them¬ 
selves by rendering the King absolute and independent of the 
parliament. It was certainly a wild scheme, and rather a dan¬ 
gerous one, but they trusted much in the aid of France, whom 
they were to appease by the sacrifice of Holland. The Dutch 
war was carried on with ill success on the part of England, 
although Louis XIY. was gaining great advantages by it. In 
the great naval fight of Solebay, in 1 G 72 , was lost the Earl of 


editor’s introduction. 


XVII 


Sandwich; and shortly after, the want of money and the discontent 
of the people, obliged the King to make a separate peace with the 
Dutch, which he excused to Louis, whose pensioner he was become, 
as well as he could. In the session of parliament, which was now 
called together, the expression of discontent and indignation was 
so unanimous and so formidable, that the King, who was now 
arrived at the point where he must either be master of the parlia¬ 
ment or give in, slunk from the struggle in defeat. The ministers 
were in dismay, and began to think of saving themselves by joining 
the popular party. The history of the remainder of his reign, till 
the secret treaty with France, presents one series of attempts by 
the King*, not to awe the parliament, but to cheat it by every 
species of falsehood and duplicity possible. The parliament, how¬ 
ever, had no longer any faith in his promises; they were well 
aware, that when he came to them and asked for supplies, 
promising' them on Ms royal word and honour that it was to support 
a war against France, he was secretly making a league with 
France to use the money in subverting the best interests of his own 
country. Every trifling circumstance raised the suspicion of the 
popular party, and new heats were blown up continually; until at 
last, when his own constitution was beginning to give way by his 
irregular life, and he was not able to live and enjoy the advantages 
of it, he went so far as to sell the freedom of his country to the 
French King for a pension, which would enable him to go on 
without calling a parliament at all. The first part of Charles’s 
reign, which may rather be called the reign of Lady Castlemaine, 
was fruitful enouo-h in calamities to the country, when the resources 
of the state were consumed in waste and debauchery* but the 
reig'n of the Duchess of Portsmouth struck more deeply at the 
roots of English liberty and independence, though happily the 
folly of the court party was itself continually thwarting and 
rendering inefficient the blow. 

A great cause of the violent heats and factions which arose 
during the latter part of Charles’s reign, was the discovery that 
the Duke of York and several of the ministers had turned to the 

c 


XV111 


editor’s introduction. 


Catholic religion ; and the not ill-founded suspicion that there was 
a plot to change the religion; as well as to overthrow the liberties 
of the country. The bloody proceedings on Titus Oates’s plot are 
now scarcely conceivable; but if we consider the extreme appre¬ 
hensions under which every body then laboured; we shall have no 
difficulty in accounting for their having been thus carried away by 
the passion of the moment. It is probable; however; that the 
violence of these proceedings contributed; more than any other 
thing; to the patience with which the nation bore the tyrannical 
proceedings of the court during the King’s last years; and to the 
quiet accession of the Duke of York. 

The period of arbitrary government which followed Charles’s 
last parliament; was distinguished by a plot not much less 
sanguinary than that of Titus Oates’s; which afforded the court a 
pretence for making away with some of the most influential of its 
opponents. 

u After the Popish plot/’ observes Evelyn on the 28 th of June; 
1688 ;* u there was now anew, and (as they called it) a Protestant 
plot discover’d; that certaine lords and others should designe the 
assassination of the King and the Duke as they were to come from 
Newmarket; with a general rising of the nation; and especially of 
the citty of London; disaffected to the jiresent government; upon 
which were committed to the Tower the Lord Russell; eldest son 
of the Earle of Bedford; the Earle of Essex, Mr. Algernon 
Sydney, son to the old Earle of Leicester, Mr. Trenchard, Hamp¬ 
den, Lord Howard of Escrick, and others. A proclamation was 
issued against my Lord Grey, the Duke of Monmouth, Sir Thomas 
Armstrong, and one Ferguson, who had escaped beyond sea. . . 
.... The Lords Essex and Russell were much deplor’d, few 
believing they had any evil intention against the King or the 
church; some thought they were cunningly drawn in by their 
enemies, for not approving some late councils and management 


* Evelyn, vol. iii* pp. 85, 8G. 


editor’s introduction. 


XIX 


relating* to France, to popery, to the persecution of the dissenters, 
&c.” 


The pretended plot was discovered by Lord Howard, a man 
of no principle, who was supposed to have shared in their councils. 
There was no evidence of any value ag*ainst them ; hut .Teffreys 
was the judg*e, and they were persons whom the King* wished to be 
rid of. Essex was found in the Tower with his throat cut; Russell 
was first executed, and afterwards Sydney, who was convicted on 
his reputation of a republican, and on a piece of paper found in his 
study, written long* before, and said to contain republican doc¬ 
trines. Monmouth surrendered himself shortly after, and was 
persuaded by the King* and the Duke of York to confess a plot 
before the council; on which condition he received his pardon, but 
he immediately made public declaration that there was no plot at 
all. 


Most people lamented the fate of Russell and Sydney. Of the 
many libels ag*ainst the court, composed and distributed on this 
occasion, the following * c new song of the times’ is a fair specimen, 
and is not devoid of wit. 


“ ’Twere folly for ever 
The Whigs* to endeavour 

Disowning their plots, when all the world knows ’em : 
Did they not fix 
On a council of six,f 

Appointed to govern, though nobody chose ’em ? 
They, that bore sway. 

Knew not one who’d obey, 

Did Trincalo make such a ridiculous pother ? 


* Whig was the term by which the party opposed to the aggressions of the 
court began now generally to be designated. 

t The council of six were Monmouth, Russell, Essex, Howard, Sydney, and 
John Hampden, the latter being the grandson of the parliamentary leader. 



XX 


editor’s introduction. 


Monmouth’s the head, 

To strike monarchy dead, 

They chose themselves viceroys each o’er one another. 

Was it not a damn’d thing, 

That Russel and Hambden 
Should serve all the projects of hot-headed Tony P 
But much more untoward, 

To appoint my Lord Howard 
Of his own purse and credit to raise men and money ? 
Who at Knightsbridgc did hide 
Those bi'isk boys unspy’d, 

That at Shaftesbury’s whistle were ready to follow f 
But when aid he should bring, 

Like a true Brentford king, 

He was here with a whoop, and there with a hollo. 

Algernon Sydney, 

Of Commonwealth kidney, 

Composed a damn’d libel, (ay, marry was it,) 

Writt to occasion 
Ill blood in the nation, 

And therefore dispers’d it all over his closet. 

It was not the writing 
Was prov’d, or inditing ; 

And though he urg’d statutes, what was it but fooling ? 
Since a new trust is 
Plac’d in the Chief-justice, 

To damn law and reason too by over-ruling.f 

And what if a traitor 
In spite of the state, sir, 

Should cut his own throat from one ear to the other ?£ 


# The Earl of Shaftesbury is said to have been the first instigator of the plot, 
but, irritated and in despair at the dilatoriness of the conspirators, to have fled 
to Holland, where he died. But, in remonstrating, he had previously “threatened 
to commence the insurrection with his friends in the city alone ; and he boasted 
that he had ten thousand brisk boys , as he called them, who, on a motion of his 
finger, were ready to fly to arms.”— Hume. 

t Whenever the prisoners made legal objections, the plea was invariably over¬ 
ruled by the judge. 

X Prom the extraordinary manner in which the Earl of Essex’s throat was cut. 



editor’s introduction. 


XXI 


Shall then a new freak 
Make Braddon and Speak 

To be more concerned than his wife or his brother ? 

A razor all bloody, 

Thrown out of a study, 

Is evidence strong of bis desperate guilt, sir; 

So Godfrey* when dead, 

Pull of horror and dread, 

Eun his sword through his body up to the hilt, sir. 

All Europe together 
Can’t show such a father, 

So tenderly nice of his son’s reputation, 

As our good King is, 

Who labours to bring his 
By tricks to subscribe to a sham declaration. 

’Twas very good reason, 

To pardon his treason, 

To obey (not his own, but) his brother’s command, sir, 

To merit whose grace, 

He must in the first place 
Confess lie’s dishonest under his hand, sir.” 

The Rye-House conspiracy, for so this plot was called, was 
made to appear far more than it really was. The illegal and 
unjustifiable manner in which the trials of the prisoners were carried 
on. seems to shew that the court was aware that there was no Wal 
evidence whatever to condemn them: people in general beheld the 
executions with distaste and indignation, and six years afterwards, 

it was believed by many that he had been murdered. “ Yet it was wondered by 
some,” says Evelyn, “how it was possible he should do it in the manner he was 
found, for the wound was so deep, and wide, that being cut through the gullet, 
wind-pipe, and both the j ugulars, it reached to the very vertebra; of the neck, so 
that the head held to it by a very little skin as it were ; the gapping, too, of the 
razor, and cutting his owne fingers, was a little strange ; but more, that having 
pass’d the jugulars, he should have strength to proceed so far, that an executioner 
could hardly have done more with an axe. There were odd reflections upon it.” 
—Yol. iii. p. 87. “ Two children affirmed that they heard a great noise from his 

window, and that they saw a hand throw out a bloody razor.”— Hume. 

* Sir Edmondbury Godfrey, who was found murdered with his sword run 
through his body, at the beginning of the trials about the plot of Titus Oates. 


XXII 


editor’s introduction. 


when the bigotry and tyranny of Charles’s successor had paved the 
way to the revolution, the judgment was reversed, and the whole 
declared a murder. Evelyn, who was equally bigoted in his hatred 
to catholics and dissenters as in his loyalty, expresses the same 
incredulity in the Rye-House Plot, as in that of Titus Oates. 
“The public,” he observes on the 14th July, 1683, “was now in 
greater consternation on the late plot and conspiracy 5 his majestie 
very melancholy, and not stirring without double guards; all the 
avenues and private dores about White-hall and the Park shut up, 
few admitted to walke in it. The papists in the meane time very 
jocond, and indeede with reason, seeing their own plot broug'ht to 
nothing, and turn’d to ridicule, and now a conspiracy of protestants 
as they call’d them.” 

The King lived scarcely two years after the discovery of this 
plot, and three after the infamous bargain with France, whereby 
he had sold the liberty of his country in exchange for a pension 
for himself. During that period, all the acts of the court were 
directed to the same point at which James the Second aimed more 
openly, the establishment of the Popish religion and arbitrary 
government. Charles the Second ended his reign as he beg’an it, 
—a heartless libertine and a hypocrite. On the twenty-fifth of 
January, 1685, when he was fifty-four years old, Evelyn was at 
court, and, it being* a Sunday, was shocked at the debauchery and 
profaneness which was there exhibited. “ I saw this evening such 
a scene of profuse gaming, and the King in the midst of his three 
concubines (Portsmouth, Cleveland, and Mazarine,) as I had never 
before seen. Luxurious dallying and prophaneness.” On the 6th 
of February the King died, in the profession of the Roman Catho¬ 
lic religion, to which, up to the last moment, he had made a public 
show of being averse. 

The numerous libels published during the latter part of Charles’s 
reign, point to the Duke of York as the chief abettor of the 
arbitrary and tyrannical proceedings of the court, and, to all ap- 


editor’s introduction. 


XX11I 


pearance, not without good reason. In his mind, the Popish 
religion seems to have planted all its worst principles, without 
intermixing* with them any of the good Christian feelings of which 
every sect possesses its share. On his accession to the crown, all 
the evil tendencies of the faith which he had embraced began to 
show themselves still more openly. During a reign of three years 
and a few months, he contrived to insult and despise every party, 
to interfere with every body’s privileges and rights, and so entirely 
to lose the love of his own subjects, that when the revolution 
broke out, there was not a person to hold up a hand in his favour. 





INTRODUCTION. 


“ In days of ease, when now the weary sword 
Was sheathed, and luxury with Charles restor’d, 

In every taste of foreign courts improved, 

All by the King’s example lived and loved. 

The soldier breathed the gallantries of Trance, 

And every flowery courtier writ romance : 

Lely on animated canvas stole 

The sleepy eye, that spoke the melting soul.”— Pope. 


It is the peculiar privilege of the Portrait-painter to immortalize 
Beauty, to give duration to the most perishable of Heaven’s gifts, 
and bestow upon the Fair u a thousand years of bloom.” When 
the poet has done his utmost to describe the charms which kindled 
his fancy and inspired his song * when, in the divine spirit of his 
art, he has arrayed 

“The thing he doats upon with colouring 
Richer than roses, brighter than the beams 
Of the clear sun at morning 

when he has decked out the idol of his imagination in all the pomp 
of words, and similes culled from whatever is sweetest and loveliest 
in creation—the bloom of flowers, the freshness of the dawn, the 
breathings of the spring', and the sparkling of the stars,—he has 
but given us the elements out of which we compose a Beauty, 
each after a fashion and fancy of our own. Painting alone can 
place before us the personal identity of the poet’s divinity,—made 
such by the superstition of love. When the historian has told us 
that Mark Antony lost the world for a woman, and sold an empire 
for Cleopatra’s smile, his eloquence can go no further : the record 
of her beauty lives upon his page,—her beauty itself only in the 




20 


INTRODUCTION. 


faith of our imagination. What would we not give to gaze indeed 
upon that u brow of Egypt/’— 

“ The love, the spell, the bane of Antony,” 
such as the pencil of Arellius might have transmitted it to us! 

It is true; that when the personage is purely ideal and poetical; 
we do not willingly part with the imaginary form which has been 
stamped upon our individual fancy, for any imitative semblance. 
We have no desire to see a portrait of the lady in Comus , or the 
Jewess Rebecca, or Gulnare; or Corinne; or Mignonne. In these 
and similar instances; the best of painters will scarce equal either 
the creation of the poet; or its vivid reflections in our own minds: 
hut where the personage is real or historical; the feeling is reversed; 
we ask for truth even at the risk of disappointment; and are 
willing to exchange the vaguely beautiful figure which has dwelt 
upon our fancy; for the defined reality; however different and; in 
all probability; inferior. 

When lingering in a gallery of pictures; with what eagerness of 
attention do we approach a portrait of Mary Stuart; or Lucrezia 
d’Este; or Tasso’s Leonora ! Lady Sunderland* and Lady Bridge- 
water might have hung’ and mouldered upon the walls of Blenheim; 
of no more regard than other dowagers of quality, if Waller had 
not sung the disdainful charms of the first, and Pope celebrated the 
eyes and the virtues of the latter. Yet, on the other hand, were 
it not for Vandyke and Kneller, we should scarce have sympathized 
in Waller’s complaints of u Sacliarissa’s haughty scorn,” or under¬ 
stood the influence of cc Bridgewater’s eyes.” If the portrait 
sometimes derives from the poet or historian its best value, the 
beauty of the portrait as often makes us turn with redoubled 
interest to the page of the poet. After looking at the picture of 
Hortense Mancini in the Stafford Gallery, we take down St. 
Evremond with added zest: and who has not known what it is 
to pause before some beautiful c portrait unknown’ of Titian or 

* The elder Lady Sunderland, Lady Dorothea Sidney. 


INTRODUCTION. 


27 


Vandyke, with a sigh of baffled interest? calling 1 upon our 
imagination to supply the lack of tradition, and asking such 
questions as Lord Byron asks of Cecilia Metella, with as little 
possibility of being satisfied,— 

u AVas she chaste and fair ?— 

What race of chiefs and heroes did she bear ? 

AY hat daughter of her beauties was the heir ? 

How lived, how loved, how died she ?” 

Or, who ever gazed upon the portrait at Windsor of Venetia 
Digby, without a devouring* hut vain curiosity to pierce the 
mystery of her story and her fate ? The silence of the grave rests 
upon both. A few scattered and contradictory notices, and all 
that painting could express of the matchless beauties of her face 
and form, remain to us: dust and an endless darkness have 
swallowed up the rest !* 

“Lely alone,” says Walpole, “can excuse the gallantries of 
Charles : he painted an apology for that Asiatic court—bear 
witness these lovely forms, which his pencil has rescued from death 
and fate, and preserved to us even in the loveliest looks they wore 
on earth :— 

“ Redundant are those locks, those lips as fair, 

As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.” 

But, says Morality, and frowns, How is the world or posterity 
benefited by celebrating the charms and the errors of these fair 

* Venetia Digby was the wife of Sir Ivenelm Digby: the emblematical 
accompaniments of her picture cannot now be explained or understood. She 
was of noble—of the noblest blood: her father was a Stanley; her mother, Lady 
Lucy Percy : yet Aubrey calls her a courtesan. She married Sir Kenelm Digby 
while yet very young ; and at the age of thirty was found dead, her head resting 
on her hand, in the attitude of one asleep. Some said she was poisoned by her 
husband through jealousy; others that her death was caused by certain medica¬ 
ments and preparations he had administered to enhance the power of her charms, 
of which he was enamoured even to madness. 

Sir Ivenelm Digby was not only the handsomest man and most accomplished 
cavalier of his time, but a statesman, a courtier, a philosopher, and a dabbler in 
judicial astrology and alchymy. 


28 


INTRODUCTION. 


pieces of sin and mischief; who ought rather to do penance with 
their faces to the wall; than thus boldly attempt to dazzle and 
blind our severer judgment by the blaze of their attractions ! Or, 
if the}" must needs be preserved as valuable works of art; why 
should we not gaze upon them merely as such ? While thus they 
smile upon us from the almost breathing canvas; serene in their 
silent beauty; why should we be forced to remember that faces so 
fair were ever stained by passion; or clouded by g*rief, or wrinkled 
by time ? If the severe historian must needs stain his page with 
that disgraceful era of profligacy and blood; as a record and a 
warning to future ages ; let the poet forget it;—let the lover forget 
it; above all; let women forget the period which saw them 
degraded from objects of adoration to servants of pleasure; and 
gave the first blow to that chivalrous feeling with which their sex 
had hitherto been regarded; by levelling the distinction between 
the unblemished matron and her who was the u ready spoil of 
opportunity.” Let them be the first to fling a veil over what 
woman should shrink to look upon; and exclaim; like Claire when 
she threw the pall over the perishing* features of Julie ;— u Maudite 
soit l’indigne main qui jamais soulevera ce voile !” 

This would be well; if it were possible ; but it is not. Of late 
a variety of causes have combined to fix the public attention upon 
the age of Charles the Second; and to render interesting* every 
circumstance connected with his court and reign. Common gal¬ 
lantry requires that we should no longer suffer the Beauties of 
that day to be libelled by the caricature resemblances which have 
hitherto, by way of illustrating; deformed the editions of De 
Grammont; it is due to the good taste of Charles; to give him the 
full benefit of the excuse which Lely’s pencil afforded him ; and; 
lastly; common justice; not only to the dead; but the living*; requires 
that the innocent should not be confounded with the g’uilty. Most 
of those who visit the Gallery of Beauties at Windsor, leave it 
with the impression that they have been introduced into a set of 
kept-mistresses. Truly, it seems hard that such women as Lady 
Northumberland, Miss Hamilton, Lady Ossory, whose fair reputa- 


INTRODUCTION. 


29 


tions no slanderous wit dared to profane while livings should be 
condemned to posthumous dishonour, because their pictures hang* 
in the same room with those of Middleton and Denham. 

It is difficult to touch upon the female influence of Charles’s 
reign, without being either betrayed into an unbeseeming levity, 
or assuming a tone of unseasonable severity : yet thus much may 
be said; the Memoirs, which have been collected to illustrate these 
beautiful Portraits, have been written without any design of raking 
up forgotten scandal, or varnishing over vice ; and equally without 
any presumptuous idea of benefiting the world and posterity; 
but certainly not without a deep feeling of the lesson they are 
fitted to convey. Virtue is scarcely virtue, till it has stood the 
test: a woman who could pass through the ordeal of such a court 
as that of Charles the Second unstained in person and in reputa¬ 
tion, may be supposed to have possessed a more than common 
share of innate virtue and feminine dignity; and she who stooped 
to folly, at least left no temptation to others to follow her example. 
When, from the picture of Castlemaine, in her triumphant beauty, 
we turn to her last years and her death, there lies in that transition 
a deeper moral than in twenty sermons: let woman lay it to her 
heart. 

* * * * \ * 

But a lighter and gayer subject demands the pen. The obvious 
connexion between beauty and dress, and the influence of the 
reigning fashions upon the style of the portrait-painter, render it 
necessary to say a few words of the costume of Charles the 
Second’s time, as illustrative of the following Portraits and 
Memoirs. 

At the period of the Bestoration, and for some years afterwards, 
the style of dress retained something of the picturesque elegance 
of Charles the First’s time. French fashions prevailed indeed, 
more or less, during the whole of the succeeding reign: French 

J o o o 

tailors, milliners, hairdressers, and tire-women were then, as now, 


30 


INTRODUCTION. 


indispensable ; but it was not till a later period, after a secret and 
disgraceful treaty had made Charles a pensioned creature of 
France, that the Engdish court became in dress and manners, a 
gross and caricatured copy of the court of Louis the Fourteenth. 
Before the introduction of perukes, men as well as women wore 
their hair long and curling down their shoulders : the women, in 
particular, had their tresses artfully arranged in elaborate ringlets, 
partly loose, or confined to the back of the head by jewels or knots 
of riband, as in the portraits of Lady Northumberland and Lady 
Bochester. The general effect w T as graceful and feminine; till, 
like other fashions, it was carried to an excess, and artificial curls 
were worn to supply the w r ant or scarcity of natural hair. The 
men wore coats of cloth, velvet, or serge $ and, in full dress, of 
gold and silver tissue, richly slashed and covered with embroidery: 
large bows of riband of various colours, wherever they could be 
placed—on the shoulders, at the breast, at the knees, at the sword- 
hilt, distinguished the u ruffling' gallants” of the court.* The 
dress of the ladies was, in material, rich silk or satin, sometimes 
brocaded with gold and silver and consisted of a long boddice 
fitted to the shape, and cut low in the bosom, a tucker or laced 
chemise appearing above. This boddice was open down the front, 
and fastened with brooches of jewels, or knots of riband, or creves> 
as in the portraits of the Duchess of Bichmond and Lady Sunder¬ 
land. The skirt was worn full with many plaits, and sufficiently 
short to shew the ankles : the sleeves were generally full, long, 
and very wide, gathered and looped up high in front with jewels ; 
and shewing beneath a white sleeve of fine linen or cambric, 

* Evelyn humorously alludes to this extravagant fashion. “ He met,” he says, 
“a fine thing in 'Westminster Hall, that had as much riband about him as would 
have plundered six shops, and set up twenty pedlars : a frigate, newly rigged, 
kept not half such a clatter in a storm as this puppet’s streamers did, when the 
wind was in his shrouds.”— Tyrannus , or the Mode — Evelyn's Memoirs , vol. ii. 

t Pepys mentions, that his wife and Lady Castlemaine purchased a dress off 
the same piece of silk, for which they paid 15s. a-yard: this is, as if a lady of 
these days were to pay three guineas a-yard for a gown. 


INTRODUCTION. 


31 


embroidered or trimmed with lace. This must have been rather an 
inconvenient fashion; but very graceful in appearance, and calcu¬ 
lated to set off a beautiful arm to the greatest possible advantage. 

The custom of patching the face prevailed about this time, and 
continued till the days of the Spectator ; when, as we are told, the 
Tory ladies patched on one side of the face, and those of the Whig 
persuasion on the other; till Addison’s exquisite raillery rendered 
both patching and party-spirit unfashionable. Shoe-buckles were 
now first introduced, instead of the large roses of riband formerly 
worn ) and green stockings were affected by some of the court 
ladies, for reasons which politeness forbids us to mention— except 
in a note.* Every one who has read De Grammont, will recollect 
the green stockings of the beautiful Lady Chesterfield, which made 
the Duke of York swear so gallantly, that there was a point de 
salut sans des bas verts.” 

In 166G, the King, in order to repress the increasing luxury of 
dress, and, as Mr. Pepys expresses it, u to teach the nobility 
thrift,” declared in council his design of adopting a certain habit, 
which he was resolved never to alter. It consisted of a long* close 
vest of black cloth or velvet, pinked with white satin j a loose coat 
over it of the Polish fashion * and, instead of shoes and stockings, 
buskins or brodequins.j' Some of the young courtiers, aware of 
the King’s versatility, laid wagers with him that he would not 


* Elle 1’ a (la jambe) grosse et courte, poursuivit-il, et pour diminuer ses 
defauts autant que cela se pout, elle ne porte presque jamais que des bas verts.— 
De Grammont. 

f See Ecliard’s History of England, vol. ii. p. 836, and Evelyn’s Memoirs. 

“ Oct. 8th. The King hath yesterday in council declared his resolution of 
setting a fashion for clothes, which he will never alter ; it will be a vest: I know 
not well how, but it will teach the nobility thrift, and will do good.” 

“ 17th. The court is all full of vests, only my Lord St. Albans (Jermyn) not 
pinked, but plain black; and they say the King says that the pinking upon 
white, makes them look too much like magpies; so hath bespoke one of plain 
velvet.”— Pepys ’ Diary , vol. i. p. 471. 


32 


INTRODUCTION. 


continue in this fashion beyond a certain time, which proved to he 
the case. a It was/’ says Evelyn, u a comely and a manly habit; 
too good to hold, it being' impossible for us to leave the Monsieur’s 
vanities long*.” 

The use of ladies’ riding-habits, or Amazonian habits as they 
were termed, was introduced in this reign. It was the custom for 
the Queen and the Maids of Honour to accompany the King in 
his hawking parties, mounted upon fine horses, and attended by 
the courtiers. To ride well, was then an admired female accom¬ 
plishment • it appears that the peculiar grace with which Miss 
Stewart sat and managed her horse, was one of her principal 
attractions in the eyes of the King • and that Miss Churchill had 
nearly lost the heart of the Duke of York by her equestrian 
awkwardness. 

Cocked hats, laced with gold, and trimmed with white, black, 
and red feathers were worn by both sexes. Pepys records his 
admiration of Miss Stewart in her u cocked hat and red plume,” 
as she returned from riding. A particularly smart and knowing 
cock of the hat was assumed by the young gallants, called the 
u Monmouth cock,” after the Duke of Monmouth. 

In the latter part of Charles’s reign, the close and disgraceful 
connexion between the French and English courts delivered us up 
to French interests, French politics, and French fashions. This 
was the era of those enormous perukes, which in the succeeding' 
reigns of William and Anne attained to such a preposterous size.* 
Mustachios on the upper lip disappeared from court, hut were not 
finally abolished till the succeeding reign. At this time, the ex¬ 
posure of the neck and shoulders was carried to such a shameless 

* They were first worn by a Duke of Anjou, to conceal a personal deformity, 
and adopted by the court in compliment to him. In the same spirit, when Philip 
of Macedon was wounded in the forehead, all his courtiers walked about with 
bandages round their heads. 


INTRODUCTION. 


83 


extreme, that even women of character and reputation scarcely 
affected a superficial decency of attire. Painting* the face, which had 
declined since Queen Elizabeth’s time, was again introduced from 
France, and became a fashion. Hoods of various colours were 
worn, and long* trains, which caused, very unreasonably, almost as 
much scandal as the meretricious display of the person.* Women, 
instead of wearing* long* ringlets clustering* down the neck, began 
to frizzle up their hair like periwigs, as in the portrait of the 
Duchess of Portsmouth. It is remarkable, that the elevation, 
decline, and fall of the female coiffure, comprised exactly a century. 
It began to rise between 1680 and 1090 ; rose gradually for the 
next fifty years ; and reached its extremest height toward the end 
of George the Second’s reign, when it absolutely emulated the 
tower of Babel: from that time it declined by slow degrees, and 
about the period of the French Revolution, the heads of our women 
beg*an to assume their natural shape and proportion. 

Other fashions and tastes of Charles’s time may be dismissed in 
a few words. The King, from spending his youth abroad, and 
perhaps in earlier years from his mother, had imbibed a decided 

* In the Preface to a curious religious Tract, entitled “ A just and seasonable 
reprehension of the enormity of naked breasts and shoulders,” published by a 
Non-conformist Divine, but translated, as the title sets forth, from the Drench 
of a grave and learned Papist, these long trains are censured, with much spiritual 
indignation, as “a monstrous superfluity of cloth or silk that must be dragged 
after them, or carried by another, or fardelled behind them.” There is an anec¬ 
dote of a lady of that time, who being forbidden, by court etiquette, to bring 
her train-bearers into the Queen’s presence, had her train made long enough to 
reach into the anti-chamber. 

[The inconvenient fashion of long trains belonged properly to an earlier, more 
stiff and formal, and less civilized period. During the fourteenth, and part of 
the fifteenth centuries, they were most enormous, both in Prance, England, and 
Scotland, if we may judge by the paintings on the manuscripts of that period, and 
by the allusions by contemporary writers. The puritans, and particularly t..e 
reformers in Scotland, had too much zeal to be reasonable ; and among the 
numerous writings of the latter which remain, we find invectives against those 
long trains so virulent and so gross, as is not easily to be conceived. Ed.] 

D 


34 


INTRODUCTION. 


partiality for the language and literature of France ; and after his 
return to the throne, French became the fashionable language at 
court. The patriotic Evelyn inveighs against this innovation; and 
only excuses the King as having “in some sort a right to speak 
French, he being King of France/’* There are some lines in 
Andrew Marvel’s Works, in allusion to this fashion, so beautiful 
and so little known, that I cannot deny myself the pleasure of 
quoting them :— 

“ Cselia, -whose English doth more richly flow 
Than Tagus—purer than dissolved snow, 

And sweet as are her lips that speak it, she 
Now learns the tongues of France and Italy; 

But she is Cselia still; no other grace 

But her own smiles commend that lovely face! 

Her native beauty’s not Italianated, 

Nor her chaste mind into the French translated ; 

Her thoughts are English, though her speaking wit 
"With other language doth them fitly fit.” 

Here compliment and reproof are exquisitely blended : but Dry den, 
in the comedy of Marriage a-la-Mode , has rallied the same fashion 
with more severity, and infinite comic humour. Melantha, the 
fine lady of the piece, most industriously interlards her discourse 
with French phraseology. “No one can be so curious of a new 
fashion, as she is of a new French word: she is the very mint of 
the nation; and, as fast as any bullion comes out of France, coins 
it immediately into our language.”! Her waiting-maid, who is 
the “ heir of her cast words as well as of her old clothes,” and 
supplies her toilet every morning with a list of new French words 
for her daily conversation, betrays her vocabulary to her lover, who 

* Preface to the Essay in Evelyn’s "Works, entitled “ Tyrannus, or the Mode.” 
t Marriage a-la-Mode, Act i., Scene 1. In a subsequent scene Melantha thus 
expresses her admiration of a French, and her contempt for an English beau :— 
How charming is the French air! and what an etourdi hcte is one of our untra¬ 
velled Islanders ! When he would make his court to me, let me die but he is 
just iEsop’s Ass, that would imitate the courtly French in their addresses ; but, 
instead of those, comes pawing upon me, and doing all things so mal-a-droitly .— 
Act ii.. Scene 1. 


INTRODUCTION. 


35 

is thus enabled to attack her with her own weapons, and wins her 
by out-doing* her in affectation, and overpowering* her with her 
own nonsense.* The character of Melantha in this play, or rather 
the admirable performance of the part by the celebrated actress, 
Mrs. Montfort, is considered by Cibber as a most lively and just 
representation of a fantastic fine lady of Charles’s time. His 
sketch is so very amusing*, and so a propos to our subject, that it is 
given in his own words. u Melantha,” he says, a is as finished an 
impertinent as ever fluttered in a drawing* room , and seems to 
contain the most complete system of female foppery that could 
possibly be crowded into the tortured form of a fine lady. Her 
lang*uag*e, dress, motion, manners, soul, and body are in a continual 
hurry to be something* more than is necessary or commendable. 
The first ridiculous airs that break from her, are upon a g*allant 
never seen before, who delivers her a letter from her father, 
recommending* him to her g*ood graces as an honourable lover. 
Here now, one would think, she might naturally show a little of 
the sex’s decent reserve, though never so slightly covered. No, sir, 
not a tittle of it: modesty is a poor-souled country gentlewoman; 
she is too much a court lady to he under so vulgar a confusion. She 
reads the letter, therefore, with a careless dropping lip and erected 
brow, humming it hastily over, as if she were impatient to outgo 
her father’s commands by making a complete conquest of him at 
once ; and that the letter might not embarrass the attack,— crack ! 
she crumbles it at once into her palm, and pours down on him her 
whole artillery of airs, eyes, and motion: down to the ground 
goes her dainty diving body, as if she were sinking under the 
weio’ht of her own attractions; then she launches into a flood of 
fine language and compliment, still playing her chest forward in 
fifty falls and risings, like a swan upon waving water; and, to 
complete her impertinence, she is so rapidly fond of her own wit? 
that she will not give her lover leave to praise it. Silent, assenting* 

* In the list of Melantha’s modish and new-fangled French words, the reader 
is surprised to find several which are now so completely naturalized, that the date 
of their introduction is only thus ascertained; as figure, conversation, grimace , 
embarrassed, ridicule, good graces, &c. 

D 2 


36 


INTRODUCTION. 


bows, and vain endeavours to speak, are all the share of the 
conversation he is admitted to ; which, at last, he is removed from, 
by her engagement to half a score of visits, which she swims from 
him to make, with a promise to return in a twinkling.”* 

This spirited sketch is possibly dashed with some little caricature 
and exaggeration, but it is evidently from the life: and we are 
tempted here to pause, and consider the revolutions in taste 
and manner, and contrast the tawdry affectation, the flaunting 
airs, the fluttering movements, the laborious volubility,—in a 
word, the intolerable vulgarity of a fine lady of Charles’s court, 
with the calm, quiet elegance, the refined and unobtrusive sim¬ 
plicity, which distinguish the really well-bred woman of our time. 
Notwithstanding what De Grammont says of the 'politeness of 
the English court, the general profligacy of morals was accom¬ 
panied by a grossness of manners and language, in both sexes, 
scarcely to be credited in these days. Women of condition 
scrupled not to swear u good mouth-filling- oaths,” such as Hotspur 
recommended to his wife. The licence introduced and endured 
upon the stage, was not certainly borrowed from the French 
theatre; but, encouraged by the depraved taste of the King*, and 
supported by the prostituted talents of Dryden, and the wit of 
Etheridge, Davenant, Killigrew, Wyclierly, it spread the con- 
tag’ion far and wide, where the influence and example of the court 
could not otherwise have extended. Women of reputation and 
virtue, married and unmarried, frequented the theatre, which was 
then a favourite and fashionable place of amusement 5 from which, 
in summer, they adjourned to the Park or Spring Gardens,—the 
performances being over about the time they now begin. How 
any woman, not wholly abandoned, could sit out one of the fashion¬ 
able comedies of those days, appears incomprehensible : most of 
them, indeed, paid so much external homage to modesty, as to 
appear in masks; which, from the facilities they afforded to 
intrigue, were then a useful appendage to the female costume. To 
this Pope alludes : — 


* Cibber’s Apology, 99. 


INTRODUCTION. 


37 


“ The fair sat panting at a courtier’s play, 

And not a mask went unimproved away; 

The modest fan was lifted up no more, 

And virgins smiled at what they blushed before.” 

The fashionable poetry and light literature of the day, consisted 
chiefly of love-songs, epigrams, epistles, and satires; all tinged, 
more or less, with the same perverted and licentious spirit. Well 
might Dryden, in self-humiliation, exclaim,— 

“ O gracious God ! how oft have we 
Pi'ofaned thy sacred gift of poesy, 

Made prostitute and profligate the muse !” 

A vicious taste for personal scandal was one of the most marked 
characteristics of that period. The ag'e deserved the lash of satire ; 
but they who coarsely satirized it, often committed u most mis¬ 
chievous foul sin, in chiding sin.” There is, however, a wide 
difference between the spirit and talent of the various satirists 
then in vogue : some, like Marvel, Denham, and Rochester, man¬ 
gled their prey like u carcases for hounds f’ others, like Dryden 
and Butler, u carved it as a dish fit for the gods.” In those days 
newspapers were not, as now, the vehicles for fashionable chit-chat 
and satire. Coffee-houses, # which had lately been established, 
were the resort of the gallants, the poets and wits of the times; 
and the usual method of circulating a court lampoon, or any piece 
of malicious or political wit, was by transcripts handed about in 
the coffee-houses, till they fell at last into the hands of some ob¬ 
scure printer, who loved his profit better than his ears; and by 
dashes and stars, (another invention of that time,) contrived at 
once to fix the scandal and elude the law. 

The last successful play of Dryden, the last court lampoon of 
Dorset, or the last new love-song of Sedley, then comprised the 

* I believe it is scarce necessary to notice, that tea, coffee, and chocolate were 
all introduced into England in the reign of Charles the Second; the first from 
Holland, the second from France, and the last from Portugal, by the Queen and 
her Portuguese attendants. 


88 


INTRODUCTION. 


light reading* of a fine lady. As }^et novels were not: the serious 
and prolix romances in folio of Calprenede, Scuderi, and Durfey, 
—Clelie, and the Grand Cyrus, were the only works of fiction then 
fashionable ; and in their pictures of pastoral purity, and exalted 
love, and high-wrought tone of impossible heroism and double- 
refined sentiment, formed so strong a contrast to the prevailing 
manners and tastes, that one wonders how the gay gallants and 
court dames of that period could ever have had patience to pore 
over them : but thus it was. 

Charles loved and patronised music;* and the germ of the 
Italian Opera may be traced to his reign.'j' Killigrew, who had 

* But—lie neglected Purcell, and rewarded Grabut! 

t [The origin of the Opera in England is a subject that has been as yet very 
imperfectly known. We may, perhaps, consider as its first form the Masques 
which were so common during the reigns of Elizabeth and the two first Stuarts. 
However, we are certain that there was an Opera in England under the Com¬ 
monwealth. Old Anthony Wood, mentioning a piece of Sir William Davenant’s 
which was performed at Rutland House, May 23, 1656, calls it an Italian Opera; 
but with as little reason, apparently, as Dr. Burney had for supposing that the 
name Opera was only applied to these performances by Wood. The piece to 
which he alludes was probably the one printed the following year (1657) under 
the title of “ The Eirst Dayes Entertainment at Rutland-House by Declamations 
and Music; after the manner of the Antients in the Prologue to which it is 
said, in apology for the smallness of the stage, (“ our cupboard scene,”) — 

“ Think this your passage, and the narrow way 
To our Elisian field, the Opera” 

And again, in one of the ‘Declamations,’—“Poetry is the subtle engine by 
which the wonderful body of the Opera must move.” The name is here intro¬ 
duced as though it were by no means new. It must be confessed that this 
‘ Entertainment’ bears no great resemblance to the Operas of the present day ; 
but another piece, by the same author, comes somewhat nearer to our notion of 
an Opera: it was printed in 1658, with the title “ The Cruelty of the Spaniards 
in Peru. Exprest by instrumental! and vocall Musick, and by Art of Perspective 
in Scenes, &c. Represented daily at the Cockpit in Drury Lane, at three after 
noone punctually.” 

W ood says, that the Opera went on with tolerable success for some years at 
Drury Lane. Sir William Davenant afterwards obtained a patent for a theatre 
in Lincoln’s Inn Eields, (we believe in Great Queen-street,) where, soon after 


INTRODUCTION. 


39 


resided some time at Venice, brought over a company of Italian 
singers, who sang in dialogue and recitative, with accompani¬ 
ments, and excited great admiration at court. A young Italian, 

the Restoration, he was busy performing his Operas, and particularly this one of 
the “ Cruelty of the Spaniards in Peru.” In a rare volume of Songs, printed in 
1661, with the title “ Choyce Poems, by Wits of both Universities,” we find “ a 
Ballad against the Opera,” whose satire is directed against this identical piece :— 

“ Now heaven preserve our realm, 

And him that sits at th’ helm, 

I will tell you of a new story, 

Of Sir William and his apes, 

With full many merry japes, 

Much after the rate of John Dorie. 

This sight is to be seen 

Near the street that’s called Queen, 

And the people have call’d it the Opera. 

But the devil take my wife ! 

If all the dayes of my life 

I did ever see such a fopperie.” 

And so our satirist goes on to tell us, how one of the performers comes forward 
with a speech to inform his hearers of the subject of the piece, of which he declares, 
“ ’Tis two hours of I know not what.” 

“ Neither must I here forget 
The musick there, how it was set, 

Dise two ayers and half and a Jove ; 

All the rest was such a gig, 

Like the squeaking of a pig, 

Or cats when they’r making their love. 

The next thing was the scene, 

And that, as it was layne, 

But no man knows where, in Peru, 

With a story for the nones, 

Of raw head and bloody-bones, 

But the devil a word that was true.” 

The subject of Davenant’s Opera was, indeed, one by no means proper for 
stage representation. Among other stage directions in the printed edition, we 
have “ Two Spaniards are discovered,—the one turning a spit, whilst the other is 
basting an Indian prince, which is rosted at an artificiall fire.” ! ! On which the 
writer of the song says,— 


40 


INTRODUCTION. 


named Francesco Corbetta,* whose performance on the guitar 
was much admired and patronised by the King, first made that 
elegant instrument fashionable in England ; and it became such a 
mania, that, either for show or use, it was as indispensable upon 
a lady’s toilet as her rouge and patch-box. A beau of that time 
was little thought of, who could not write a song on his mistress, 
and sing it himself to his guitar. Lord Arran, a younger son of 
the great Duke of Ormond, was the most admired amateur per¬ 
former at court 5 and his beautiful sister, Lady Chesterfield, 
gloried in possessing the finest guitar in England: but it sounded 
discord in the ears of her jealous lord, according to the story 
in De Grammont. The following passage in Pepys’ Diary is 
characteristic of the time : he went to pay a visit of business 
to Lord Sandwich, on board the Royal James,; “and there 
spent an hour, my lord playing on the gittarr, which he now 
commends above all musique in the world.” Lord Sandwich was 
a distinguished and veteran commander, admiral of the fleet, and 
at this time a grandfather, or old enough to be one. 


“ Oli! greater cruelty yet! 

Like a pig upon a spit 

Here lies one, there another boyl’d to a jellie.” 

The Opera ended by a dance of the Indians, who had been delivered from Spanish 
cruelty by the bravery of the English,— 

“ But which was strange again, 

The Indians that they had slain 
Came dancing all in a troop. 

But, oh ! give me the last! 

Eor as often as he past, 

He still tumbled like a dog in a hoop.” 

English Operas were common enough during the reign of Charles II. Pepys 
(Jan. 12, 1667,) mentions “Signor Baptista, (Draghi,) who had proposed a play 
in Italian for the Opera, which Sir T. Killigrew do intend to have up.”— Ed.] 

* There is a print of him by Gascar with this inscription:— 

“ Prancesco Corbetta 
Famosissimo maestro di Chitarra 
Qua! Orfeo nel suonar ognun il n&rra.” 



INTRODUCTION. 


41 


Painting* was neglected in this reign, except as far as it flattered, 
and was subservient to personal vanity. Accordingly we do not 
And the name of a single good painter of history j while portrait- 
painters abounded. Those who were chiefly employed by the 
court, during the reign ot Charles the Second, were Sir Peter 
Lely, Huysman, Wissing, and Sir Godfrey Kneller. 

Sir Peter Lely was a native of Soest, in Westphalia, where his 
father, a captain of horse, was then in garrison. After studying 
some time under an obscure painter of the name of Grebber, he 
came to England in 1041. Though he painted Charles the First, 
a short time before his downfall, # and Cromwell more than once, 
it does not appear that Lely enjoyed much celebrity till after the 
Restoration. The gay cavaliers and beautiful women of Charles 
the Second’s court were better suited to his taste, and more ap¬ 
propriate subjects for his delicate and graceful pencil than the stilt’ 
figures and stern puritanical visages of the Commonwealth. The 
first Duchess of York, Anne Hyde, though a fine woman, was 
not remarkable for her personal attractions : she was, however, 
content to gratify the taste of the King and her husband in this 
particular * and, in forming her court, after the acknowledgment of 
her marriage, took pains to surround herself with all that was most 
brilliant and fascinating’ in youth and beauty. Miss Jennings,t 
Miss Temple,;]; and Miss Hamilton, were among the most conspi¬ 
cuous ornaments of her court. She began the collection now 
known as the u Beauties of Windsor,” by commanding Sir Peter 
Lely to paint for her the handsomest women of the time, com¬ 
mencing* with her own lovely Maids of Honour. The success with 
which he executed this charming task, raised him at once to 
reputation and to fortune. Every woman was emulous to have 
her charms immortalized by his beauty-breathing pencil; and 
lovers and poets were, for the first time, gratified by beholding 


* This remarkable picture is now at Sion-House, 
t Afterwards Duchess of Tyrconnel. 

X Afterwards Lady Lyttelton. 


42 


INTRODUCTION. 


their mistresses on Lely’s canvas, scarce less enchanting' than they 
existed in their own imaginations. 

Lely has been severely criticised as an abandoned mannerist; 
and, it must he confessed, that the lang’uid air, the sleepy elongated 
eyelids, and loose fluttering draperies of his women, have given a 
general character to his pictures, which may he detected almost at 
the first glance. u Lely’s nymphs,” says Walpole, u are far too 
wanton and magnificent to be taken for any thing but Maids of 
Honour.” In another place he says, u Sir Peter Lely’s women 
trail fringes and embroidery through meadows and purling* 
streams.” This is surely hypercriticism ) and, in fact, through 
the whole of his observations, Walpole seems determined to under¬ 
value Lely in comparison with Kneller. The clinquant of which 
he accuses him, and justly, was equally the characteristic of the 
latter painter ; and, in Lely, is redeemed by a brilliance of colour¬ 
ing, and a thousand graces in style and composition, which 
Kneller never equalled, except in one or two of his very best 
productions. Neither, it is true, can be compared to the great 
classic-painters ; but some of Lely’s heads are exquisite in tone of 
colour and expression: his airy, graceful, and floating draperies 
certainly bear no traces of having been trailed through purling 
streams; and what true judge or real lover of painting, could 
wish away those charming snatches of woodland landscape, those 
magical glimpses of sky and masses of foliage, with which he has 
so beautifully—so poetically relieved his female figures ; or choose 
to substitute for these rich effects of scenery, the straight lines of 
architecture, or the folds of a curtain ? Why may not a lovely 
woman be represented, without any intolerable violation of taste 
or probability, in a g*arden or a bower, as well as in a saloon at 
Whitehall ? or seated beneath a tree, or beside a fountain, as well 
as before a piece of red drapery ? In other respects, there can be 
no doubt that the manner of the painter was in a great measure 
caught from the prevailing manners, fashions, and character of 
the times in which he lived. He painted what he saw, and if he 
made his nymphs a wanton and magnificent,” we have very good 


INTRODUCTION. 


43 


authority for believing* in the accuracy of his likenesses. The 
loose undress in which many of his female portraits are arrayed, 
or rather disarrayed, came into fashion as modesty went out, 
and virtue was voted u une impertinence.” The soft sleepy eye,— 

“ Seeming to shun the rudeness of men’s sight, 

And shedding a delicious lunar light,” 

appears to have been natural to one or two distinguished beauties 
of the time, who led the fashion, and carried to an extreme by 
others, who wished to be in the mode. We are told that the lovely 
Mrs. Hyde* had, by long practice, subdued her glances to such a 
languishing tenderness, that her eyes never opened more than 
those of a Chinese. We may imagine the fair and indolent Mid¬ 
dleton, the languishing Miss Boynton, or the insipid Miss Blague, 
u aux blondes paupieres,” with these drooping* lids and half-shut 
glances; hut it must have cost the imperious Castlemaine, the 
brilliant Jennings, and the sprightly Hamilton, no small effort to 
veil their sparkling orbs in compliance with the fashion, and affect 
an insidious leer or a drowsy lang*uor. With them it must have 
been an exquisite refinement of coquetterie, a kind of demi jour , 
giving to the raised lid and full soul-beaming* eye an effect like 
that of unexpected light—dazzling, surprising*, overpowering. 

Sir Peter Lely painted some history pieces, which have the 
same merits and defects as his portraits : the defects, however, 
predominate. He also drew finely in crayons : some exquisite 
pieces of his, in this style, are still extant. He was knighted by 
Charles the Second; and, like his predecessor Vandyke, married a 
beautiful English woman of high family: like him, too, he was 
remarkable for his graceful and courtier-like manners, for the 
splendour of his house and equipage, and for keeping* a sumptuous 
table. He spent thirty-nine years in England, and during twenty 
he was confessedly at the head of his profession. He died suddenly 
in 1(380, while painting that beautiful Duchess of Somerset, whose 
portrait is in this collection. 

* Theodosia Cape], afterwards Lady Clarendon. 


44 


INTRODUCTION. 


Wissing was a Dutch painter, who came over to England after 
having* obtained some celebrity at the French court: he was much 
patronised during- the short time he was here, and painted most of 
the royal family. The portraits of Lady Ossory and Mrs. Nott, in 
this collection, are by M issing : he was especially in fashion among 
the ladies, for he was sure to catch the best and most advantageous 
expression of every face. If it happened that one of his lovely 
models grew pale, and looked fatigued during a long* sitting, he 
would take her bv the hand and dance her about the room, to 
restore bloom to her complexion and spirit to her countenance : it 
was a specific which never failed. Wissing died young, at Lord 
Exeter’s seat at Burleigh. He has been celebrated by Prior. 

James Huysman, or Houseman, was a native of Antwerp, who 
came over to England when Lely was in the zenith of his repu¬ 
tation, and had nearly rivalled him: and not without reason. 
Huysman had studied in the school of Bubens, and formed his 
taste and style after the model of Vandyke. Some of his pictures 
which I have seen, have something* of the power and freedom of 
the latter painter, blended with the sweetness and grace of Lely. 
His beautiful portrait of the Duchess of Richmond, (Miss Stewart,) 
as a young cavalier, is at Kensington. Whether the fine picture, 
which hang’s over the door in the Beauty Room at Windsor, be 
the work of Huysman or Vandyke,—whether it represent a Lady 
Bellasys, or a Lady Bryon, are points which will be discussed and 
settled in their proper place. 

Huysman constituted himself the Queen’s painter, and made her 
sit for all his Madonnas and Venuses. He might have chosen a 
better model, and more munificent patroness: Catherine had no 
predilection for the fine arts. Huysman died in 1G90 : his death 
left Kneller without a rival. 


Sir Godfrey Kneller was by birth a Saxon. His first success 
in England is connected with a very characteristic anecdote. He 
came to this country in 1674, without any intention of residing 

J J C 


INTRODUCTION. 


45 

here, having* resolved to settle at Venice, where he had already 
received great encouragement. Soon after his arrival, he painted 
the Duke of Monmouth for Secretary Vernon ; and the duke was 
so charmed by the resemblance, that he engaged the King, his 
father, to sit to the new painter. At this time Charles had pro¬ 
mised the Duke of York his portrait by Lely; and disliking* the 
trouble of sitting, he proposed that both the artists should paint him 
at the same time. Sir Peter was to choose the light and point of 
view he thought most advantageous; the stranger was to take 
the likeness as he could : he performed his task with so much 
expedition, that he had nearly finished his head of the King*, when 
Lely had only just begun his. Charles was pleased : Lely gene¬ 
rously owned the abilities of his competitor, and the justice of the 
resemblance; and this first success induced Kneller to settle finally 
in England. After the death of Sir Peter Lelv, in 1080, he 
became the court and fashionable painter, and was for nearly fifty 
years without a competitor; during which time, he painted all the 
distinguished characters of the ag*e, both Eng*lish and foreign. 
William the Third knighted him, George the First made him a 
baronet, and Leopold created him a knight of the Poman Empire. 
Ten sovereigns sat to him; but we owe him a far deeper debt of 
gratitude for the likenesses of Dry den, Pope, Kewton, Locke, 
Addison, Congreve, and Wortle}’ Montague, which his pencil has 
transmitted to us. 

The well-known u Beauties ” at Hampton Court, were painted 
by Sir Godfrey Kneller for William the Third. As paintings, they 
are decidedly inferior to the Windsor Beauties; and, with due 
deference to the virtues of the ladies they represent, are, as subjects, 
not to be compared in interest and beauty, to their naughty 
mammas and grandmammas of Charles the Second’s time. There 
is a chalkiness in the flesh, and a g’eneral rawness in the tints, 
which will not bear a comparison with the delicacy of Lely’s 
carnations, and the splendour of colouring in his landscapes and 
draperies; and they have all a look of studied stiffness and pro- 


INTRODUCTION. 


46 

priety, which, as it is obviously affected, is almost as had as the 
voluptuous negligence of Lely’s females.* 

Kneller’s powers as a wit almost equalled his talents as a 
painter, and his vanity appears to have exceeded both. Pope, who 
was his personal friend, and who has given him in his verses a 
surer immortality than the pencil ever conferred, has left us a 
characteristic anecdote of him: it is thus related in Spence:— a I 
(it is Pope who speaks) was sitting one day by Sir Godfrey Kneller, 
whilst he was drawing a picture: he stopped and said, ‘ I can’t do 
so well as I should do, unless you flatter me a little; pray flatter 
me, Mr. Pope ; you know I love to he flattered !’ I was for once 
willing to try how far his vanity would carry him ‘ and, after 
considering a picture he had just finished for a good while very 
attentively, I said to him in French, (for we had been talking for 
some time before in that language,) c On lit dans les Ecritures 
Saintes, que le bon Dieu faisait l’homme apres son image ; mais, je 
crois, s’il voudrait faire un autre a present, qu’il le ferait apres 
l’image que voila.’ Sir Godfrey turned round, and said very 
gravely , c Yous avez raison, Monsieur Pope; par Dieu, je le crois 
aussi.’” The gross folly and profaneness of this answer, seem 
inconsistent with the wit Sir Godfrey really possessed : possibly he 
was playing off the poet’s trick upon himself, and the reply was 
onl}' ironical; for he seems, from the first part of the story, to have 
been quite aware of his own foible. His answer to his tailor was 
in better taste : the man had proposed his son to him as an 
apprentice, and begged he would make him a painter : u Dost 
thou think, man,” exclaimed Sir Godfrey in a rage, u that I can 
make thy son a painter ? ]N T o; only God Almighty makes 
painters!” j' 

[* Seven of the heads in the gallery of Admirals, were done by Ivneller, and 
the portraits of the Kit-cat Club were his. Kneller had an elder brother, who 
was also distinguished as a painter, and is said to have studied under Bol and 
Kembrandt. He came to England, and died in 1702. Ed.] 

t Walpole. 


INTRODUCTION. 


47 


Sir Godfrey Kneller died in 1723, and left £300 to erect a 
monument to himself in Westminster Abbey, which was executed 
by Eysbrach. Pope said the epitaph he composed for this monu¬ 
ment was the worst thing* he ever wrote,* and he was not far 
mistaken. The thought in the concluding- lines, 

o O 7 

“ Living, great Nature feared he might outvie 
Her works, and dying, fears herself may die,” 

is borrowed from Cardinal Bembo’s epitaph on Raphael in the 
Pantheon at Rome; but the hyperbole does not sound so ill in 
Latin, as in plain homely Eng-lish; and is, besides, most clumsily 
translated. It may be added, that a compliment which, paid to 
the divinest of painters, was only a poetical licence, has become 
burlesque and absurd when applied to one so immeasurably his 
inferior. One would almost think, that the vanity which Pope 
had flattered and ridiculed when living*, he meant to stig-matize on 
the tomb, by praise at once so affected and poor in its expression, 
so exaggerated and misapplied in its meaning*. 

It will not be out of place here to continue this slight sketch of 
portrait-painting* and portrait-painters, as connected with female 
beauty and the English Court, down to our own time. 

Jervas succeeded Sir Godfrey Ivneller as court-painter. In 
spite of the poetical flattery of Pope,f who embalmed his name in 

* “ I paid Sir Godfrey Kneller a visit but two days before be died, and I think 
I never saw sucb a scene of vanity in all my life : be was lying in bis bed, and 
contemplating the plan be bad made for bis own monument. He said many 
gross things in relation to himself, and the memory be should leave behind him ; 
be said he should not like to lie among the rascals in "Westminster: a memorial 
there would be sufficient, and desired me to write an epitaph for it. I did so 
afterwards ; and I think it is the worst thing I ever wrote.”— Pope—in Spence. 

t Pope spared not to flatter his friend in prose as well as in verse. In one 
of his letters to him, he writes, “ Every body here has great need of you: many 
faces have died for want of your pencil; and blooming ladies have withered in 
expecting your return.” In another, he says, “ I long to see you a history- 


48 


INTRODUCTION. 


the u lucid amber of his lines/’ and his immense reputation when 
livings Jervas is now almost forg-otten as a painter. His portraits 
being- without intrinsic merit as painting-s, without even the value 
which just likeness could g-ive them, have long- ag-o been banished 
into g-arrets and housekeepers’ rooms, or turned with their faces to 
the wall, or exiled into brokers’ shops, to be sold for the value of 
their frames. Jervas had formed his taste on two of the worst 
models a painter could select,—Carlo Maratti and Sir Godfrey 
Kneller: he contrived to exag-g-erate the faults of both, without 
possessing- any of their merits ; and while his success equalled that 
of the former, his vanity even exceeded the conceit of the latter.* 

At this time also lived Dahl, a Swede by birth, who came over 
to Eng-land about the time of the Revolution. He was a portrait- 
painter of considerable merit, and patronised by William the Third, 
for whom he painted the Gallery of Admirals at Hampton Court. 
He appears, however, to have painted few female portraits ; the 
ladies being- eng-rossed by Kneller and Jervas. 

The reig-ns of Georg-e the First and Second present not one 
name of eminence in portrait-painting-: the arts had sunk to the 
lowest possible ebb ; and the absurd and ungraceful fashions, which 
prevailed in dress and manners at this time, are perpetuated in 
the stiff, homely, insipid portraits of Richardson and Hudson. 
u Kneller,” as AYalpole pleasantly observes, u had exag-g-erated the 
curls of full-bottomed wig-s, and the tiaras of ribands, lace, and 
hair, till he had struck out a graceful kind of unnatural grandeur.” 
Not so his immediate successors : they, destitute of taste or imag-i- 

painter: you have already done enough for the private; do something for the 
public,” &c. Jervas would have made a rai’e history-painter !—so much is there 
iu a fashion and a name, it could dazzle even Pope. 

# Jervas was supposed to have indulged a presumptuous passion for Lady 
Bridgewater, the loveliest of the four lovely daughters of the great Marlborough. 
Hence the frequent introduction of her name into Pope’s Epistle to Jervas, and 
the exquisite character he has drawn of her : he calls her in one place, “ thy 
Bridgewater.” 


INTRODUCTION. 


49 


nation, have either left us hideous and literal transcripts of the 
awkward, tight-laced, be-hooped, and be-wigged generation of 
belles and beaux before them; or, quitting at once all nature, 
grace, probability, and even possibility, have given us Arcadian 
shepherdesses, and Heathen goddesses, and soi-disant Greeks and 
Homans, where wigs and flounces, and frippery mingle with 
crooks, sheep, thunderbolts, and Homan draperies. But it is out 
of the last abasement of hopeless mediocrity, that original genius 
most frequently rises and soars 5 where there is nothing to imitate, 
nothing to rest upon, a reaction takes place : and while Hudson 
was painting insipid faces, in powdered side-curls and white satin 
waistcoats, the g*enius of Gainsborough and Sir Joshua Reynolds 
was preparing a new era in the history of art. Gainsborough 
is chiefly celebrated as a landscape-painter ; yet what truth of 
character, what vigour of touch, what free, unmannered sim¬ 
plicity of style in some of his portraits !—his Blue Boy at 
Grosvenor-House, for instance, equal to any thing of Sir .Joshua’s. 
But the bland and graceful pencil of the latter was calculated 
to please more generally, and he was soon without a competitor. 
If court patronage make the court-painter, Sir Joshua has 
little claim to the title: it was impossible to owe less than he did 
to royal favour: but if the presence of high-born loveliness in 
attendance upon Majesty constitute a court, he whose pencil has 
immortalized two generations of English beauties, may well be 
styled the court-painter of England. Among his pupils and suc¬ 
cessors, Hoppner imitated him, and caught something of his style 
and feeling: Sir Thomas Lawrence has not imitated him, and has 
inherited his genius and his fame. It is therefore easier to con¬ 
trast, than to compare them. Thus, the excellencies of Sir Joshua 
Reynolds -are more allied to the Yenetian school, those of Sir 
Thomas Lawrence to the Flemish school. Sir Joshua reminds us 
more of Giorgione and Titian, Sir Thomas of Vandyke and Lely. 
Both are graceful; hut the grace of Sir Joshua Reynolds is more 
poetical, that of Sir Thomas Lawrence more spiritual; there is 
more of fancy and feeling in Sir Joshua, more of high bred ele¬ 
gance in Sir Thomas Lawrence. The first is the sweeter colourist, 


E 


50 


INTRODUCTION. 


the latter the more vigorous draughtsman. In the portraits of 
Sir Joshua there is ever a predominance of sentiment; in those of 
Sir Thomas a predominance of spirit. The pencil of the latter 
would instinctively illuminate with animation the most pensive 
face; and the genius of the former would throw a shade of ten¬ 
derness into the countenance of a virago. Between both, what 
an enchanting gallery might be formed of the Beauties of George 
the Third’s reign,—the Beauties who have been presented at St. 
James’s during* the last half century! Or, to g*o no further back 
than those painted by Lawrence, since he has been confessedly the 
court-painter of England—if the aerial loveliness of Lady Leices¬ 
ter—the splendid beauty of Mrs. Littleton—the poetical sweetness 
of Lady Walscourt, with C( mind and music breathing* from her 
face/’—the patrician grace of Lady LansdoAvne—the pensive 
elegance of Mrs. Wolfe;—the more brilliant and intellectual 
graces of Lady Jersey,—Mrs. Hope, with eyes that anticipate a 
smile, and lips round which the last bon-mot seems to linger still, 
—the Duchess of Devonshire, the Lady Elizabeth Forster, Miss 
Thayer, Lady Blessington, Lady Charlotte Campbell, Mrs. Arbutli- 
not, &c— if these, and a hundred other fair u stars,” who each in 
their turn have blazed away a season on the walls of the Academy, 
u the cynosure of neighbouring eyes,” and then set for ever to the 
public—if these could be taken from their scattered stations over 
pianos and over chimney-pieces, and assembled together for one 
spring in the British Gallery, an exhibition more interesting, more 
attractive, more dazzlingly beautiful can scarcely be imagined: 
but if the pride of some, and the modesty of others, would militate 
against such an arrangement, we know nothing that could pre¬ 
vent the Directors of the British Institution from gratifying the 
public with a regular and chronological series of British historical 
portraits; beginning with the age of Henry VIII. and Elizabeth, 
as illustrated by Hans Holbein, Antonio More, Oliver, &c., and 
bringing them down to the conclusion of the last century. The 
royal palaces, Knowle, Burleigh, Blenheim, Dunham, Hinching- 
broke, Tabley, Castle-Howard, &c. contain treasures in this 
department, which the noble proprietors would proudly contribute : 


INTRODUCTION. 


51 


and such a collection or selection of u gorgeous dames and states¬ 
men old/’ would not only comprise many curiosities and chefs- 
d’oeuvre of art, but form a most interesting and instructive 
commentary on the biography and history of our country. 

The only substitute for such an exhibition is a Gallery of 
Engraved Portraits. This brings us back at last to the peculiar 
subject of this work, a The Beauties of Charles’s Days,” and 
the Queen leads the way, by right of etiquette and courtesy, if not 
by u right divine” of Beauty. 


o 















































































































e 


QUEEN CATHERINE 

OF BRAGANZA. 


Queen Katherine.— Bring me a constant woman to her husband ; 

One that ne’er dream’d a joy beyond his pleasure ; 
And to that woman, when she has done most, 

Yet will I add an honour,—a great patience. 

King Henry. Go thy ways, Kate. 

That man i’ the world, who shall report he lias 
A better wife, let him in nought be trusted, 

Bor speaking false in that. 


Catherine of Braganza was the only daughter of that cele¬ 
brated Duke of Braganza, who, by one of the most bloodless and 
most patriotic revolutions ever recorded, was placed upon the 
throne of Portugal in 1641, with the title of Don Juan the 
Fourth. Her mother, Louisa de Guzman, a daughter of the 
Duke of Medina Sidonia, was a woman of great beauty and spirit. 
On the death of her husband in 1666, she was left Regent of the 
kingdom ; and, during the minority of her weak and worthless 
son, she maintained the national independence against Spain with 
equal ability and success. 

Catherine, the eldest of her children, was born just before the 
Duke of Braganza’s elevation to the throne. She was brought 
up, according to the custom of her age and country, within the 
strict bounds of a convent; her society confined to her confessor, 
and a few simple-minded, fanatic nuns 5 her reading, to her 





54 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


Breviary and the Lives of the Saints. Such was the society and 
such the education from which she was called at the age of three 
and twenty to share the throne of England, and rule the most 
licentious court in Europe: a court in which her ignorance and 
innocence rendered her ridiculous, her religious bigotry contempti¬ 
ble, and her high spirit and fresh and unworn affections only made 
her feel more acutely the mortifications to which she was hourly 
exposed, both as a queen and as a woman. 

The first overtures for the marriage of Charles with the Infanta 
of Portugal were made by the Portuguese ambassador, Don 
Francisco de Melo, in 1061, through the medium of the Earl of 
Manchester, then Lord Chamberlain. It was at first privately 
represented to the King, that u it was time for his majesty to 
think of marriage, from which he had hitherto been withheld by 
the extreme difficulty of finding, among* the issue of the royal 
houses of Europe, a consort in all respects suited to him :* that 
there was in Portugal a princess, whose youth, beauty, and large 
portion, rendered her a desirable match for the King of England : 
she was, indeed, a Catholic, and would never forsake the religion 
in which she had been bred up; but she was without any meddling* 
activity of mind, and had been educated by her mother, the Queen 
Itegent, in total ignorance of politics and business; and being of 
a gentle and submissive disposition, would be satisfied with the 
undisturbed exercise of her own religion, without concerning her¬ 
self with that of others.” 

Finding these representations graciously received, the ambassa¬ 
dor proceeded, still with the utmost secrecy, to explain the offer he 


* The King, guided by his mother, had early resolved not to marry a Protestant. 
When the matter was debated by the privy council, and some of his best friends 
strongly advised him to unite himself with a Protestant princess, he asked petu¬ 
lantly where there was a Protestant for him to marry ? Several of the German 
princesses were mentioned. “ Odds-fish !” says the King impatiently, “they 
are all foggy; I cannot like any one of them for a wife !”—Carte s Life of 
Ormond. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. o5 

was authorized to make. Portugal was to pay down in ready 
money five hundred thousand pounds sterling, as the marriage 
portion of the Infanta; and to assign over to the crown of Eng¬ 
land the fortress of Tangier, on the African coast, and the island 
of Bombay in the East Indies, with full liberty to the English of 
trading to the Brazils. To the profuse and needy Charles, the 
offer of half a million of money, placed at his sole disposal, was a 
tempting consideration: the religion of the Infanta was no objec¬ 
tion to him, and he hoped that the advantageous conditions 
annexed to the treaty would render it palatable to his people. 

When it was laid before the council, Clarendon, whose influence 
was then at its height, eagerly supported the measure ; partly 
from a conviction of its political utility, partly to prevent the 
suspicion that he had been privy to the marriage of his daughter* 
with the Duke of York, in the hope of her offspring- succeeding to 
the crown: perhaps, also, he thought to make the young Queen 
his friend, in opposition to the mistresses and profligate courtiers, 
whom his natural timidity of disposition made him fear, but whom 
the inborn integrity of his character would not allow him to court. 
Supported by his credit, and the evident wishes of the King, the 
treaty met with no opposition from the council. The Portuguese 
ambassador returned to his country to make known the favourable 
sentiments of the King, and to bring back full powers for the ratifi¬ 
cation of the treaty: he carried with him also a letter from Charles 
to the Infanta, written with his majesty’s own hand, in which he 
addressed her as his wife. 

Even when matters had gone thus far, and the King’s honour 
was in some degree pledged, the treaty was nearly broken off by 
the intrigues of the Earl of Bristol, who was devoted to the 
Spanish interest, then in direct opposition to that of Portug*al. 
Bristol,! the most crack-brained of political profligates, whose 

* Anne Hyde. 

t George Disbv. See more of him in the Memoir of Lady Sunderland. 

' O O » 


60 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


inconsistency made him a by-word and a mockeiy, had rendered 
himself pleasing’ to the Iving’ by his convivial qualities, which were 
unrestrained by principle or decency, and obtained a strong* in¬ 
fluence over him by being* privy to some important state secrets.* 
He now employed all that influence to break off the intended 
marriage, and was zealously supported by the ambassador of 
Spain, (Don Louis de Haro,) a man of liig'h passions, and more 
than Spanish pride. Portugal, they insisted, was then in such a 
state of poverty, that all her finances were inadequate to pay the 
promised portion : Spain was collecting* all her power to crush the 
family of Brag’anza * who, unable to cope with the immense expe¬ 
dition arrayed against them, would have no other resource than 
u that of transporting themselves and all their adherents to 
Brazil :”f and the ambassador added, with characteristic audacity, 
that (< really he had too high an opinion of his majesty’s g*ood 
sense to believe that he would incur the resentment of Spain, by 
allying* himself with a family and a nation of rebels.” 

The Earl of Bristol, who knew the King’s ruling foible, drew a 
most odious picture of the Infanta’s person, and asserted her in¬ 
capacity of becoming a mother: he then reverted to the charms 
and accomplishments of the Italian women. His majesty, he said, 
had only to take his choice among* the princesses of Italy ; and 
the King* of Spain would adopt her, and dower her as a daughter 
of Spain. 

These artful suggestions had their effect upon the versatile and 
susceptible mind of Charles. He began to cool upon his intended 
marriage ; and, at length, to view it even with a degree of disgust. 
When the Portug’uese ambassador returned from Lisbon, the 
changes which had taken place during his short absence, and his 
cold reception at court, so astonished and affected him, that beino- 

* It is said, that he was one of the witnesses to the King’s formal abjuration 
of the Protestant religion. 

t It is a curious coincidence, that the expedient here anticipated should have 
been actually resorted to within our own memory. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


57 


u something- of a hypochondriac/’ he took to his bed, and felt or 
feigned sickness.* 

But, just at this crisis, fortunately (or should we not rather say, 
unfortunately?) for Catherine, the levity of Bristol, and the un¬ 
exampled audacity of the Spanish ambassador, defeated the effect 
of all their past intrigues. The latter behaved with such rash 
insolence, that the King-, with a spirit he seldom asserted on such 
occasions, commanded him to depart the king-dom instantly, with¬ 
out seeing- his face again; and sent the Secretary of State to 
inform him u that a complaint of his conduct would be made to the 
King, his master, from whom his majesty would expect that justice 
should be done upon him.” The ambassador, full of alarm and 
resentment, withdrew from court, and quitted the country in a few 
days. The Chancellor, and others of the council, seized this 
moment to represent to Charles, that his honour was too far 
pledged to retreat. A private intimation was delivered from the 
French government, through the envoy Bastide, that the King* 
could not bestow himself better in marriage than with the Infanta 
of Portugal, who was styled, in courtly phrase, u a lady of great 
beauty and admirable endowments offering assistance in money 
in case of a rupture with Spain. The King’s wavering resolution 
was at length fixed lay' a sight of a miniature of the Infanta, which 
the Portuguese ambassador had brought with him. It represented 
a young person, not indeed strikingly or regularly beautiful, but 
whose delicate features, soft expression, clear olive complexion, and 
fine dark eyes, were at least attractive. The King, gazing on it 
with complacency, declared u that person could not be unhand¬ 
some,” and, with little more deliberation, the famous treaty was 
concluded which has bound England and Portugal in strict alliance 
ever since. 

The Earl of Sandwich was immediately despatched with a 
fleet to take possession of Tangier, and bring home the new 


* Clarendon’s Life. 


o8 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


Queen.* Her embarkation and arrival in England were attended by 
some curious circumstances^ which influenced her future life. The 
portion of £500,000 which the Queen-mother had with difficulty 

* 'The circumstance of a person of so good reputation as the Earl of Sandwich 
having been employed on this service, might almost have been looked on as a 
favourable omen for the new Queen, and as a pledge that her cause, had she 
herself possessed the spirit to support it, would have been that of the better 
party, though not always the stronger party, in the state. The character of this 
nobleman, as left us by his contemporaries, shines much above the generality of 
the courtiers of the reign of Charles II. Clarendon says of liim, “ that he was a 
gentleman of so excellent a temper, that he could make himself no enemies; of so 
many good qualities, and so easy to live with, that he marvellously reconciled the 
minds of all men to him, wbo had not intimacy enough with him to admire his 
other parts ; yet was, in the general inclination of men, upon some disadvantage. 
They who had as constantly followed the king, whilst he as constantly adhered to 
Cromwell, and knew not how early he entertained repentance, and with what 
hazards and dangers he had manifested it, did believe the King had been too 
prodigal in heaping honours upon him. And they who had been familiar with 
him, and of the same party, and thought they had been as active as he in con¬ 
tributing to the revolution, considered him with some anger, as one who had 
better luck than thev without more merit, and who had made earlv conditions ; 
when, in truth, no man in the kingdom had been less guilty of that address ; nor 
did he ever contribute to any advancement to which he arrived by the least 
intimation or insinuation that he wished it, or that it would be acceptable to him- 
Yet, upon this blast, the winds rose from all quarters ; reproaches of all sorts 
were cast upon him, and all affronts contrived for him .”—Continuation of the 
Life of the Earl of Clarendon, p. 303. He fell in the famous engagement with 
the Dutch off Southwold Bay, 2Sth May, 1672, and it was observed of him, that 
he was always on the victorious side in the many actions in which he had been 
engaged, even in this in which he died. “ So that,” says the elegant historian of 
the British Peerage, “ we may say of this noble earl, that as he was the chief 
cause of the defeat given to the Hollanders, in the first fight of the second war, 
so he was a principal occasion of preventing the ruin of the English and Erench 
in this remarkable engagement, which was the first of the third war.” Gerard 
Brandt acknowledges, in his Life of De Buyter, that the squadron of Tan Ghrut 
entering into the action, several men of war fell upon the earl; that however he 
contrived to maintain himself, and give the last proofs of an unfortunate valour 
till noon, when a fire-ship took hold of his ship. “ Such,” says Brandt, “was the 
end of this earl, who was vice-admiral of England, valiant, intelligent, prudent, 
civil, obliging in his words and deeds, who had performed great services to his 
king, not only in war, but also in affairs of state, and in his embassies.”—En.' 





QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


59 


provided, by selling* her jewels and much of her plate, and borrow¬ 
ing* the jewels and plate of several churches and monasteries, had 
been employed on some sudden emergency in fitting* out forces 
ag*ainst Spain, and was not forthcoming*. The Queen-mother 
made the best apology she could for a step to which she had been 
driven by the cruel necessity of her situation: she proposed to put 
on board the fleet the amount of one-half* of the portion in jewels, 
sug’ar, cotton, silk, and other commodities, and pledged herself to 
the payment of the other half within a year. Lord Sandwich was 
much embarrassed; but found it necessary to acquiesce, having no 
instructions provided against such a dilemma: and the King, who 
expected the arrival of half a million in gold, with at least as much 
impatience as that of his bride, was equally enraged and disappointed 
at the non-payment. Even Catherine herself was made to feel 
the effects of his ill-humour on this occasion. 

The other circumstance above alluded to, was more important 
in its effects. Though Catherine assumed state in Portuo-al, and 
held a court as Queen of England, she was suffered to embark 
without the performance of any of the rites of marriage, or any 
of the ceremonies usual among crowned heads on such occasions. 
The cause of this extraordinary, and even unparalleled proceeding* 
was this :—The power of Spain at the court of Rome was so pre¬ 
dominant, that the title of the Braganza family to the throne of 
Portugal had never yet been acknowledged there. Without a 
dispensation from the Pope, the Infanta could not be married to 
a heretic in her own country, and the papal dispensation, if granted 
at all, would have styled her simply the daughter and sister to a 
Duke of Braganza. Rather than submit to this apprehended 
insult, her proud and jealous relatives chose to trust unreservedly 
in the honour of England.* The fleet, with the princess and her 
retinue, sailed from Lisbon the 13th of April, and arrived at 


* Secret History, vol. i. In the Stuart Papers it is said, that Catherine 
“would not be married by a Protestant proxy.” "W as she then in the secret 
that her husband was a Catholic ? 


GO 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


Portsmouth the 14th of May. But, though suffering severely 
from the effects of her voyage, Catherine remained on hoard till 
the 20th, from a point of etiquette which did not allow her to land, 
or be seen by any hut her women, till met by the King, who was 
detained in London. Immediately on his arrival the marriage 
ceremony was performed according to the Romish rite, by the 
Lord Aubigny,* almoner to the Queen, in the presence of the 
Portuguese ambassador, and two or three of her women. They 
were afterwards married according to the Protestant church, by 
Dr. Sheldon, bishop of London : but, on this occasion, Catherine, 
as simple-minded as bigoted, refused to repeat the words of the 
ritual, turned away her head poutingly, and would not even look 
the bishop in the face. She insisted, however, on his solemnly 
pronouncing her the wife of the King before he quitted her 
chamber.']' 

This hasty and imperfect marriage was subsequently the occa¬ 
sion of much scandal, and tended to embitter the after-life of 
Catherine. Many affected to regard it as a mere contract, not 
binding upon the King; and even to found on it additional reasons 
for the divorce, which, in 1G69, was seriously agitated; and would 
probably have been carried into effect upon slighter grounds, if 
Charles had resembled his bluff ancestor Harry the Eighth. 

It does not appear that the King was disappointed in the person 

* Brother to the Duke of Richmond. 

t [The Earl of Sandwich gave the following account of the manner of the Pro¬ 
testant marriage:—“ May 21, 1G62, in the afternoon the King and Queen came 
into the presence-chamber (at Portsmouth) upon the throne, and the contact 
formerly made with the Portuguese ambassador was read in English by Sir John 
Nicholas, in Portuguese by the Portuguese secretary De Saire; after which, the 
King took the Queen by the hand, and (as I think) said the words of matrimony 
appointed in the Common-Prayer, the Queen also declaring her consent. Then 
the bishop of London (Sheldon) stood forth, and made the declaration of matri¬ 
mony in the Common-Prayer, in the name of the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.” 
— Kraket's Chronicle. See Harris’s Life of Charles the Second, 2 vols. 8vo. 
17o7 .—Ed.] 


queen CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


01 


of his young* Queen ;* in a letter to Lord Clarendon, dated from 
Portsmouth, he expresses his satisfaction in strong* terms and 
Clarendon says, u it is certain she had wit and beauty enough to 
have pleased the King, if big’otry and an ill education had not 
spoiled her.” Pepys, describing her in his Diary, says, u For the 
Queen, though she be not a very charming, yet hath she a good, 
modest, and innocent look, which is most pleasing.” Catherine’s 
defects seem to have been those of manner, rather than person; 
her disposition was not sprightly, nor her deportment dignified. 
It would be unjust to attribute the moody pettishness and melan¬ 
choly, which she betrayed soon after her marriage, to a natural 
gloominess of disposition; for it onty proved that she was not 
absolutely insensible. Charles, whose powers of captivation few 
women could withstand, had, in the commencement of their inter¬ 
course, won her whole affections; and she could not see herself 
neglected by her husband, and brow-beat by insolent rivals, 
without the discontent and anger natural to a fond, jealous, and 
high-spirited woman. 

When Catherine first arrived in England, she was dressed after 
the antiquated fashion of Portugal, in a high boddice, ruff, and 

* “ The Queen is brought a few clays since to Hampton Court, and all people 
do say of her to be a very fine and handsome lady, and very discreet, and that 
the King is pleased enough with her, which, I fear, will put Madam Castlemaine’s 
nose out of joynt.”— Pepys' Diary. 

“ Portsmouth, 21 May, 8 in the Morning. 

t “ I arrived here yesterday, about two in the afternoon ; and as soon as I had 
shifted myself, I went to my wife’s chamber. ***** Her face is not so 
exact as to be called a beauty, though her eyes are excellent good, and not any 
thing in her face that in the least degree can shock one. On the contrary, she 
has as much agreeableness in her looks, altogether, as ever I saw; aud if I have 
any skill in physiognomy, which I think I have, she must be as good a woman as 
ever was born. Her conversation, as much as I can perceive, is very good ; for 
she has wit enough, and a most agreeable voice. You would much wonder to see 
how well we are acquainted already. In a word, I think myself very happy ; but 
I am confident our two humours will agree very well together. I have not time 
to say any more. My Lord-Lieutenant will give you an account of the rest.” 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


02 

farthingale, which excited some insolent merriment in her new 
court, and which the King obliged her to alter.* She had brought 
with her from Lisbon a bevy of Portuguese attendants, of whom 
De Grammont has left us a ludicrous description. Six u monsters,” 
alias Maids of Honour, ruffed and farthingaled like their mistress, 
surrounded her person : they were governed by an old duenna, 
(or guarda damns,) more hideous than all her damsels, as stiff as 
pride and buckram could make her, with, we may suppose, double 
solemnity of ruff’ and treble expansion of farthingale. Besides 
these, Catherine had in her retinue six almoners, a confessor, a 
Jewish perfumer, and an officer, whose function seems to have 
puzzled the whole court, entitled the u Queen’s barber.” These 
foreigners, by their ignorance, bigotry, and officiousness, caused 
as much confusion as the French attendants of her predecessor, 
Henrietta Maria; and Charles soon followed the example of his 
father, by shipping- the whole cargo back to their own country, 
and surrounded the Queen with creatures of his own.')' In the 
list of her new attendants laid before Catherine for her approbation, 
Charles had the effrontery to include Lady Castlemaine, his 
acknowledged mistress. Catherine instantly drew her pen across 
the name, and when the King insisted, she replied haughtily u that 
she would return to her own country, rather than be forced to 
submit to such an indignity.” Her spirit however availed her 

* There is a fine print of the Queen in her Portuguese costume by Eaithorne ; 
in which her hair is dressed out like a full-bottomed wig. Catherine was very 
reluctant to change her style of dress: her Portuguese attendants had endea¬ 
voured to persuade her that she should neither learn the English language, nor 
use their habit; which they told her would be for the dignity of Portugal, and 
would quickly induce the English ladies to conform to her majesty’s practice. 
The result, however, was just the reverse. Evelyn speaks of the excessive ugli¬ 
ness and “monstrous fardingals” of the Portuguese women: and Pepys (who was 
very sensitive to personal appearance) seems to have been horrified both by their 
hideous persons and dresses. 

t The Countess of Penalva, “ by reason of the Queen’s tender attachment to 
her, and her own infirmities, was suffered to remain on the Queen’s earnest 
entreaty, that she might not be left wholly in the hands of strangers.”—See 
Clarendon. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


03 


little: Charles, spurred on by the female fury who governed him, 
was steady to his cruel purpose. On one particular occasion, when 
the Queen held what we should now call a Drawing-room, at 
Hampton Court, Lady Castlemaine was introduced in form by the 
King*. Catherine, who did not know her, and heard the name 
imperfectly, received her with as much grace and benignity as the 
rest:—but in the next moment, recollecting herself, and aware of 
the public insult which had been offered to her, all her passions 
were roused: she started from her chair, turned as pale as ashes ; 
then red with shame and anger; the blood gushed from her nose, 
and she swooned in the arms of her women. The court was im¬ 
mediately broken up : but Charles, though probably touched with 
some compunction, had been persuaded by some of the profligates 
about his person, that the Queen wished to govern him • that his 
dignity and authority would be compromised if he gave up the 
point; and fancied he was imitating* his model, Louis Quatorze, 
by forcing his Queen to acquiesce in her own dishonour. Lord 
Clarendon, during* this degrading* contest between the wife 
and the mistress, had vainly opposed the King’s intention * and 
at length, in disgust, absented himself from court: upon which 
the King* wrote to him a letter, of which the following* is an 
extract:— 

u I wish I may be unhappy in this world, and in the world to 
come, if I fail in the least degree of what I have resolved, which 
is of making my Lady Castlemaine of 1113' wife’s bed-chamber; 
and whosoever I find use any endeavours to hinder this resolution 
of mine, except it be only to myself, I will be his enemy to the 
last moment of my life. You know how true a friend I have been 
to you. If you will oblige me eternally, make this business as 
easy to me as you can, what opinion soever you are of; for I am 
resolved to go through this matter, let what will come on it, which 
again I swear before Almighty God: therefore, if you desire to 
have the continuance of my friendship, meddle no more with this 
business, except it be to beat down all false and scandalous reports, 


04 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


and to facilitate what I am sure my honour is so much concerned 
in ; and whosoever I find to be my Lady Castlemaine’s enemy in 
the matter, I do promise upon my word to be his enemy as long 
as I live.” 

Whatever may he thought of the style and reasoning of this 
notable epistle, it had its effect. Lord Clarendon labours to excuse 
the part he took in this wretched business, of which he has given 
us a very particular account: but it must he allowed, that it ill 
became the gravity of his place and character to stoop to he the 
King’s instrument on such an occasion. He allows that, after 
having represented to Charles u the hard-heartedness and cruelty 
of laying such a command upon the Queen, which flesh and blood 
could not comply with ;” and reminded him of the difference, in 
this respect, between the French and English courts; u that in 
the former, such connexions were not new and scandalous, whereas 
in England they were so unheard of, and so odious, that the 
mistress of the King was infamous to all women of honour he 
yet undertook to persuade the Queen to bear this indignity, which 
was u more than flesh and blood could comply with,” and to receive 
into her society—nay, into an office of honour and trust about 
her person, a female held u infamous by all women of honour,” 
and whom he would never suffer his own wife to visit. 

When the Chancellor first addressed himself to the Queen upon 
this delicate subject, she broke out into such a passion of grief and 
indignation, that he was oblig’ed to quit her. The next day she 
asked his pardon for u giving vent to the passion that was ready 
to break her heart;” and desired his advice, and to hear the truth 
with all freedom. He began by excusing the King : he told her 
a he doubted she was little beholden to her education, that had 

* Charles the First and James the First were models of conjugal fidelity; 
and Henry the Eighth never thought of any other resource in his amours, 
but the desperate one of divorcing, or cutting off the head of one Queen to 
marry another. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


05 


given her no better information of the follies and iniquities of 
mankind^ of which he presumed the climate whence she came could 
have given her more instances than this cold region would afford 
(though at that time it mas indeed very hot ): and if her majesty 
had been fairly dealt with in that particular; she could never have 
thought herself so miserable; and her condition so insupportable; 
as she seemed to think • the ground of which heavy complaint he 
could not comprehend.” The poor Queen; with many blushes and 
tears; acknowledged that u she did not think she should have found 
the King’s affections engaged to another lady /’ and then she 
stopped abruptly, unable from the excess of her emotion to say 
more. The Chancellor continued the conference with true diplo¬ 
matic art; paid her some compliments; and assured hei*; that if 
she made use of her own powers of charming; she need fear no 
rivals. He ventured to ask her; u whether; if it should please God 
to give a Queen to Portugal; she would find that court so full of 
chaste affections ?” and this allusion to the notorious gallantry of 
her brother AlphonsO; made the Queen smile. But; when he 
touched upon the hated point of contention; and named Lady 
Castlemaine; it called forth all the rage and fury of yesterday; with 
u fewer tears and more fire and she declared with passionate 
vehemence; that rather than submit; she would embark for Lisbon 
in u any little vessel.” 

u That night;” adds Lord Clarendon; u the fire flamed higher 
than ever.. The King reproached the Queen with stubbornness 
and want of duty \ she him with tyranny and want of affection.” 
The next day ; they neither spoke nor looked at each other. The 
Queen sat a melancholick in her chamber; all in tears.” The King 
sought his diversions elsewhere; never ; however; sleeping out of 
his own apartment. After a few days, the Chancellor again 
waited on the Queen by the King’s command; but with no better 
success than is usual with those who interfere in matrimonial 
squabbles. After exhausting* all his arts of diplomacy; and 
employing* such arguments as would have come better from any 
other lips than those of u my grave Lord Keeper/’ he could not; 

F 


GO QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 

though tile Queen listened to him with edifying patience, draw 
from her any other reply than u that the King might do as he 
pleased, hut that she never would consent to it.” The Lord Chan¬ 
cellor at length withdrew himself from a contest, in which he had 
cut such a sorry figure, making it his humble suit to the King*, 
that he might no more he consulted nor employed in an affair, in 
which he had been so unsuccessful; at the same time, advising 
him strongly to desist from an intention at once cruel and unjust. 

But Charles had not studied women to so little purpose: he 
knew there is one method of crushing down a female heart that 
never fails: and better than the Chancellor he knew, that possessing* 
his wife’s unbounded affection while he cared not for her, he had 
the game in his own hands : and well he understood how to play 
it effectually. He no longer insisted, or met violence with violence; 
but he treated Catherine with a cold and scornful neglect, assuming 
to others a more than usual gaiety and complacency of manner. 
She was left out in all the mirth and parties of pleasure going* 
forward. Charles studiously proved to her that his happiness 
in no respect depended on her, nor on her acquiescence in his 
wishes. The courtiers, having their cue from their master, forsook 
her to crowd round Lady Castlemaine; and she was reduced to a 
mere cypher in her own court. It was too much to bear : Cathe¬ 
rine had strong passions, hut no real strength and magnanimity of 
character: after a short struggle, in which her pride, her spirits, 
her heart, were broken down and subdued by continued mortifica¬ 
tions, she yielded,—and gained nothing by the concession, hut the 
contempt and mistrust of those who had hitherto pitied her ill 
usage, honoured her firmness, and confided in her principles.* 
Even the King, who had affected throughout more displeasure 
than he really felt, and could not but respect the cause from which 
her opposition sprung, now contemned her for her weak submission, 
and imputed her former resistance to pride and petulance, rather 
than to affection and female dignity. 


* Clarendon’s Life, folio, pp. 169, 180. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


07 


In the month of Aug-ust following* her marriage, Catherine was 
induced to receive Lady Castlemaine as one of the ladies of her 
bed-chamber, and to allow her all the honours and privileges 
attending that office.* It happened, on one occasion, that Lady 
Castlemaine came into the Queen’s closet, while she was under the 
hands of her dresser : u I wonder,” said she insolently, u your 
majesty can have the patience to sit so long a dressing !” u I have 
so much reason to use patience,” replied the Queen, pointedly, 
u that I can very well bear it!” This was the retort courteous, 
such as became a Queen: but Lady Castlemaine was not one to he 
easily abashed by a repartee. 

From this time we do not hear of any open misunderstanding 
between the King and Queen. Charles, who was good-humoured 
and polite, treated his wife with an easy complaisance, which, with¬ 
out satisfying her tenderness, left her nothing to complain of. 
She even assumed a gaiety of manner which she thought would be 
agreeable to the King, and encouraged the festivities, the masques, 
and banquets in which she knew he delighted : but this struggle to 
subdue herself, the continued indifference of her husband, the 
presence of more than one insolent favourite, who braved her in 
her own court,—above all, her excessive anxiety to have children, 
which was increased by the prevalent belief that she was incapable 
of producing heirs to the crown, seem to have preyed upon her 
mind, and, at length, threw her into a dangerous fever, in which 
she was twice given over by the court physicians.']' In her 
delirium she raved in the most affecting* manner of her children , 
fancying she had three; u but was troubled lest her boy should be 
but an ugly boy ; upon which the King*, who was present, in order 
to soothe her, said, f No, he was a very pretty boy.’—‘Nay,’ 
replied the poor Queen, distractedly, c if he be like you, he is a very 


* “ They went away—the King and his Queen, and my Lady Castlemaine and 
young Crofts (the Duke of Monmouth) in one coach , and the rest in other 
coaches.”— Pepys’ Diary. 
t In October, 1663. 


(58 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


pretty boy indeed, and I would be very well pleased with it.”’ # 
In one of her lucid intervals she expressed a thankful sense of the 
King’s affectionate attentions, which, indeed, ceased not during’ her 
illness; and told him that the sight of his affliction would have 
made her regret life, but for the conviction that she had never 
possessed his love; and that in dying-, she should make room for a 
successor more worthy of him, and to whom Heaven would perhaps 
grant the blessing* denied to her : and taking* his hand while she 
spoke, she bathed it with tears. The King*, who was naturally 
soft-tempered, was utterly subdued; he wept and entreated her to 
live for his sake. His endearing* expressions had more effect than 
all the prescriptions and cordials of Dr. Prujeon, and it was 
believed at that time were the real cause of her recovery : at all 
events, her disorder from that moment took a favourable turn, and 
she was shortly afterwards pronounced out of dang’er. An incident 
so romantic, and so well known, was not likely to be passed over 
in silence by the poets in those days. Waller, the prince of courtly 
rhymsters, has made the best use of it, in his Address to the Queen 
on her Birth-day, soon after her recovery : it is not the happiest of 
his occasional pieces, but the concluding* lines are not without 
elegance: 

“ He that was never known to mourn 
So many kingdoms from him torn, 

His tears reserved for you, more dear, 

More prized, than all those kingdoms were ; 

For when no healing art avail’d, 

When cordials and elixirs fail’d, 

On your pale cheek he dropp’d the shower, 

Revived you like a dying flower.” 

There are some other trifling* pieces among* Waller’s Miscellanies, 
in which Catherine is flattered with much courtly savoir faire. 

* Pepys' Diary, vol. i. 255, 256.—“ This morning, about five o’clock, the 
physician feeling the Queen’s pulse, thinking to be better able to judge, she being 
still and asleep, waked her; and the first word she said was, “ How are the 
children ?”—Poor Queen ! 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 09 

The little poem of u Tea commended by her Majesty/’ is one of the 
best. There is also an epigram, not very pointed or significant, 
u Upon a Card which her Majesty tore at Ombre/’—whether in 
petulance or playfulness, we are not told. 

The remainder of Catherine’s life affords little to interest. She 
not only never interfered in politics, but did not even attempt to 
serve or countenance those who were inclined to be her friends; 
and who, by rallying* round her, might have formed a counterpoise 
to the party of Lady Castlemaine. Lord Sandwich, who brought 
her over from Portug*al, and at first attached himself to her, gave 
as a reason for his dereliction, that he did not choose u to fall for 
her sake, whose wit, management, or interest, was not likely to 
hold up any man.” It was, indeed, sufficient for her to distinguish 
any of the courtiers in particular, to mark them at once as objects 
of the King’s displeasure. Thus, young* Edward Montagu, the 
son of Lord Manchester, was disgraced and turned out of the 
court, for no other fault than the pride he took in the Queen’s 
favour. Not that Charles either valued her affections or doubted 
her discretion; but merely from a love of contradiction, a petty 
jealousy of power, or a fear of the raillery of such profligates as 
Rochester, Buckingham, and Killigrew, his u all-licensed jester.” 
But Catherine allowed him few opportunities of thus mortifying 
her. 

After having suffered in the first } r ears of her marriage from 
every passion that could distract a female mind, she appears to 
have been at leng*th wearied into perfect indifference; and not 
only endured her husband’s licentious conduct with equanimity,* 
but even took pains to reconcile him, on some notable occasions, 
with his perverse and capricious mistresses. She endeavoured to 
please the King, by encouraging every species of dissipation and 

* “ Mr. Pierce told me, that the good Queene will, of herself, stop before she 
goes sometimes into her dressing-room, till she knows whether the King be theye, 
for fear he should be, as she hath sometimes taken him, with Miss Stewart.”— 
Pepys Diary , vol. i. p. 277. 


70 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


gaiety; and even entered into the extravagant masquerading’ 
frolics, then so fashionable, with more spirit than success.* 
u 01106 ,” sa} T s Burnet, “ the Queen’s chairman, not knowing who 
she was, went from her; so she was alone, and much disturbed, 
and came to Whitehall in a hackney-coach, some say in a cart.” 

Another of Catherine’s masquerading whims is recorded in Ives’s 
Select Papers. There being a fair at Audley-End, where the 
court then was, the Queen, the Duchess of Richmond, (Miss 
Stewart,) and the Duchess of Buckingham, disguised themselves 
as country lasses, in red petticoats, &c. &c., and so went to see the 
fair; Sir Bernard Gascoigne riding before the Queen on a sorry 
cart-horse. But they had so caricatured their disguises that they 
“ looked more like antiques than country-folk,” and the country 
people began to gather round them :—“ The Queen going into a 
booth to buy a pair of garters for her sweete harte, and Sir 
Bernard asking for a pair of gloves stitched with blue for his 
sweete harte, they were betrayed by their gebrish and their exag¬ 
gerated rusticity; and the Queen being recognised, the whole fair 
docked about them. They at length got to their horses but as 
many of the fair as had horses got up with their wives, children, 
neighbours, and sweete hartes behind them, to get as much gape 
as they could, ’till they brought them to the court-gate. Thus, by 
ill conduct, was a merrie frolic turned into a penance.” 

It should be observed, that nothing worse than frolic was ever 
imputed to Queen Catherine, even by the scandalous court in which 
she lived. Buckingham, who offered to carry her off to the 
Plantations, out of the King’s way, to give colour to a divorce and 
make room for Miss Stewart, would not have spared her fair fame, 
had it not been unimpeachable. The King rejected this idea with 
horror, saying, “it was a wicked thing to make a poor lady 

* “ In the hall, to-day, Dr. Pierce (one of the court physicians) tells me that 
the Queene begins to be briske and play like other ladies, and is quite another 
woman from what she was. It may be, it may make the King like her better,” 
&c.— Pepys Diary, vol. i. p. 225. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


71 


miserable, only because she was bis wife and had no children, 
which was not her fault.” In that age, when satire was u worn 
to rag’s and scribbled out of fashion,” she did not wholly escape 
the u fangs of malice 5” but the most coarse and violent lampoons 
of which she was the subject, could not attack her on any other 
score than her popish education, and her inordinate passion for 
dancing. # 

When the question of a divorce was afterwards more seriously 
debated, and even some preliminary steps taken in the House of 

* It seems incredible how a woman, who did not aspire beyond the passive, 
insignificant, inoffensive part Catherine was content to play in her own court, 
could ever have provoked the grossness and bitterness of invective which appears 
in some of these productions. One entitled. “ The Queen’s Ball,” which was 
several times reprinted, and widely circulated, begins thus :— 

“ Reform, great Queen ! the errors of your youth, 

And hear a thing you never heard, called Truth ! 

Poor private balls content the Fairy Queen ; 

You must dance (and dance damnably) to be seen, 

Ill-natured little goblin ! and designed 
For nothing but to dance and vex mankind ! 

What wiser thing could our great monarch do, 

Than root ambition out by showing you ? 

You can the most aspiring thoughts pull down ; 

For who would have his wife to have his crown ?” 

The next lines seem to refer to some particular trick, or habit, which Catherine 
had of holding jewels in her mouth :— 

“ See in her mouth a sparkling diamond shine ;— 

The first good thing that e’er came from that mine. 

Heaven some great curse upon that hand dispense, 

That for the increase of nonsense takes it thence.” 

After a great deal in the same strain, this polite effusion concludes :— 

“ What will be next, unless you please to go 
And dance among your fellow-fiends below ! 

There, as upon the Stygian lake you float, 

You may o’erset and sink the laden boat; 

While we the funeral rites devoutly pay, 

And dance for joy that you are danced away !” 


72 QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 

Lords,* and Dr. Burnet employed to write in favour of it; the 
King’ then said publicly, a that if his conscience would allow him 
to divorce the Queen, it would suffer him to dispatch her out of 
the world and Buckingham, and his worthy coadjutor Lord 
Bristol, found themselves opposed in a quarter where they cer¬ 
tainly little expected opposition. Affection for his brother might 
possibly have influenced Charles in this instance, as well as justice 
to his Queen. 

In the same year, 1GG8, the elder brother of Catherine, Don 
Alphonso VI., a contemptible and dissolute monarch, was deposed 
by his Queen and council, and his brother, Don Pedro, a man of 
courage and talent, placed upon the throne of Portugal. This 
revolution in no other respects affected the situation or happiness 
of the Queen of England, than as it probably furnished an addi¬ 
tional reason against the meditated divorce. Some attempts were 
made, on the King’s part, to induce her to go into a nunnery of 
her own free will; but, with all her bigotry, she had no vocation 
that way.J 

In 1679, during the sanguinary farce of the Popish Plot, the 
wretches Oates and Bedloe accused the Queen of being privy to 
the pretended conspiracy against her husband’s life. Animated 
by a belief that this would be agreeable to the King, Oates had 
the boldness, at the bar of the House of Commons, to utter these 
words in his affected phraseology :— (C Aye, Taitus Oates, accause 

# In the divorce-bill of Lord Roos, afterwards Earl of Rutland, which was 
passed through the House to serve as a precedent. 

[It is curious that the Duke of Buckingham opposed somewhat violently the 
progress of this bill, and only desisted after concessions had been made to him 
by Lord Roos. The lady was first cousin to the Duchess of Cleveland.— Ed.] 

f James II.— Vide “ Stuart Papers.” 

X “ This being St. Catherine’s day, the Queene was at masse by seven o’clock 
this morning; and Mr. Ashburnham (groom of the bedchamber) do say, that he 
never saw any one have so much zeale in his life as she hath ; and (the question 
being asked by my Lady Carteret) much beyond the bigotry that ever the old 
Queene-mother had.”— Pepys. 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


73 


Catherine, Queen of England, of Haigh Traison!” The grounds 
of his accusation are stated in the trial of Wakeman, the Queen’s 
physician; who, he alleged, was bribed with £15,000 to poison 
the King, in case he should escape the poniard of a Jesuit named 
Coniers, and the pistols of Pickering and Groves. Oates then 
swore, “ that three Jesuits carried him with them to Somerset- 
House, where they were summoned to attend the Queen; that he 
remained in an anti-chamber, when they were ushered into her 
presence j that he heard a female voice say, that she would assist 
Sir George Wakeman in his project, and would no longer bear 
these repeated violations of her bed. When the fathers came out, 
he desired to see the Queen • and when admitted into the anti- 
chamber, whence the female voice had proceeded, he saw the 
Queen, who smiled graciously on him, and there was no other 
woman present.” These impudent stories, with some blunders 
into which the best-breathed witness may fall, saved Sir George 
Wakeman’s life.* 

In the commencement of this affair, the Commons, maddened 
with rage and terror, sent up a petition to the King to have the 
Queen removed from Whitehall, and her household arrested, or 
dispatched out of the country ; and Charles had now an opportu¬ 
nity of ridding himself legally of a wife he had never loved. Such 
a measure, though it would have consigned him to the abhorrence 
of posterity, would at the moment have been in the highest degree 
popular ; but, shocked at the audacity of such a monstrous fabri¬ 
cation. and touched with pity for his defenceless and inoffensive 
Qne he crushed the accusation at once, observing to those 

ab im, u They think I have a mind for a new wife; but, for 

al I will not stand by and see an innocent woman abused.” 

ebruary 1685, the King’ was seized with apoplexy, and the 
Q hearing of his dang*er, but that he was still sensible, sent 

an lest request to be admitted into his presence, at the same 

5 See Dryden’s Works (Sir Walter Scott’s Eel.) vol. ix. p. 291. 


74 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


time entreating* his forgiveness for any offences she migiit have 
ignorantly committed. Charles refused to see her, but sent her a 
message, couched in the most affectionate terms, assuring* her lie 
had nothing* to forgive, but requesting* her pardon for the many 
wrong’s he had done her. At this time the Duchess of Ports¬ 
mouth w r as seated by his pillow, and she took care that none 
should approach whose interests were likely to counteract her own. 
The King*, after lingering* a few days, died in her arms—a hypo¬ 
crite to the last. It is remarkable, that Charles II., with all 
his popular qualities, so beloved, so regretted by the nation he had 
sold, cheated, impoverished, misgoverned, and enslaved, possessed 
not one personal friend : and the disgristing* neg*lig*ence with which 
his last remains were treated, strengthened the false report that 
he had been poisoned.* He captivated all who approached him 
occasionally by his amiable manners; hut only those who were at 
a distance were deceived by his hollow and heartless courtesy. 
One by one, the faithful adherents of his family withdrew in dis¬ 
grace or in despair * and he w ho professedly mocked at the 
existence of virtue and disinterested attachment, and classed all 
mankind into knaves and fools, died, as he deserved, without a 
friend. 

On the King’s death, Catherine made a very decent display of 
grief, and received the visits of condolence in a chamber lighted 
with tapers, and hung with funereal black from the ceiling to the 
floor.! She afterwards resided at Somerset-House, as Queen- 
dowager, and had a villa at Hammersmith, where she spent the 
summer months very privately. Her principal diversion Ing* 
her widowhood was music, which she had always loved. S lad 


* See Burnet. 

t Dry den, in his Monody on the death of Charles II., had the good > to 
refrain from any mention of the Queen, “ sensible that her grief wou . an 
apocryphal, as well as delicate theme.” Otway and others had not this ar- 
ance. In one of these poetical “ addresses of condolence,” the grief of th en 
for the loss of her royal consort is compared to that of the Blessed Virgi 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 


75 


concerts regularly, and on a splendid scale : in all other respects 
she lived with rigid economy. She was much respected by James 
II. and his court. In 1092 she returned to Lisbon, carrying 
with her (according- to Walpole) some valuable pictures out of the 
royal collection, as part payment of a debt she asserted to be due 
to her from the crown ; and died there December 30 , 1705 , at the 
age of sixty-three. 

The picture at Windsor, from which the accompanying portrait 
is for the first time engraved, is by Sir Peter Lely. In every 
part, hut more especially the drapery, it is admirably painted. 
She is represented as seated in a chair of state, and dressed in 
pearls and white satin, relieved by a dark olive curtain in the back¬ 
ground. The attitude is rather unmeaning and undignified, but 
is probably characteristic. The face is round ; the nose a little 
turned up ; the eyes black and languishing; the mouth, though 
far from ugly, has an expression of pouting melancholy. This 
portrait appears to have been taken within the two first years after 
her marriage, while yet she loved her husband, and deeply resented 

those infidelities and negligences which she afterwards bore with 

© © 

such exemplary patience. 


[To the foregoing* elegant sketch of the life of the Queen of 
Charles the Second, we are tempted to append a somewhat long 
extract from Clarendon, which shows how much she lost in the 
esteem of her friends by the ease with which she yielded and 
reconciled herself to her husband’s mistresses. We think we see 
a concealed sneer in the following extract from the u Chimney 
Scuffle,” a satire printed in 1602 , and therefore not long' after the 
marriage, and soon after the first quarrel between the royal pair, 
and the subsequent condescensions of the Queen to Lady Castle- 
maine, on whose name it contains a rather poor pun : — 

“ Clear that Augean stable; let no stain. 

Darken the splendor of our Charlemain, 



70 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BEAGANZA. 


Nor his court gate : may th’ ladies of this time 
Be emulators of our Katherine, 

Late come, long wish’d:- 

The world’s new moulded : she who t’other day 
Could chant and chirp like any bird in May, 

Stor’d with caresses of the dearest sort 
That art could purchase from a foreign court, 

Limn’d so by Nature’s pencil, as no part 
But gave a wound, where’er it found an heart; 

‘ A fortress and main castle of defence 
Secur’d from all assailants saving Sense.’ 

But she’s a convert and a mirrour now, 

Both in her carnage and profession too ; 

Divorc’d from strange embraces : as my pen 
May justly style her England’s Magdalen. 

Wherein she’s to be held of more esteem 
In being fam’d a convert of the Queen. 

And from relapse that she secur’d might be, 

She wisely daigns to keep her companie.” 

After relating* the circumstance of Catherine’s first introduction 
to Lady Castlemaine, the affronts and mortifications to which she 
was subjected by her opposition to the King’s will, and particularly 
the abrupt dismissal of her Portuguese attendants, Lord Clarendon 
goes on to observe ,— u At last, when it was least expected or 
suspected, the Queen, on a sudden, let herself fall first to conver¬ 
sation and then to familiarity, and, even in the same instant, to a 
confidence with the lady ; was merry with her in publick, talked 
kindly of her, and in private nobody used more friendly. This 
excess of condescension, without any provocation or invitation, 
except by multiplication of injuries and neglect, and after all 
friendships were renewed, and indulgence yielded to new liberty, 
did the Queen less good than her former resoluteness had done. 
Very many looked upon her with much compassion ; commended 
the greatness of her spirit, detested the barbarity of the affronts 
she underwent, and censured them as loudly as they durst, not 
without assuming the liberty, sometimes, of insinuating to the 
King himself, how much his own honour suffered in the neglect 



QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA. 77 

and disrespect of her own servants, who ought, at least in publick, 
to manifest some duty and reverence towards her majesty; and 
how much he lost in the general affections of his subjects: and 
that, besides the displeasure of God Almighty, he could not 
reasonabty hope for children by the Queen, which was the great if 
not the only blessing- of which he stood in need, whilst her heart 
was so full of grief, and whilst she was continually exercised with 
such insupportable afflictions. And many, who were not wholly 
unconversant with the King-, nor strang-ers to his temper and 
constitution, did believe that he g-rew weary of the strug-g*le, 
and even ready to avoid the scandal that was so notorious, 
by the lady’s withdrawing- from the verg-e of the court, and being- 
no long-er seen there, how firmly soever the friendship mig-ht be 
established. But this sudden downfall, and total abandoning- her 
own greatness; this low demeanour, and even application to a 
person she had justly abhorred and worthily contemned, made all 
men conclude, that it was a hard matter to know her and, conse¬ 
quently, to serve her. And the King himself was so far from 
being reconciled by it, that the esteem, which he could not hitherto 
but retain in heart for her, grew much less. He concluded, that 
all her former aversion, expressed in those lively passions which 
seemed not capable of dissimulation, was all fiction, and purely 
acted to the life, by a nature crafty, perverse and inconstant. He 
congratulated his own ill-natured perseverance; by which he dis¬ 
covered how he was to behave himself hereafter, and what remedies 
he was to apply to all future indispositions: nor had he, ever after, 
the same value of her wit, judgment, and her understanding, 
which he had formerly • and was well enough pleased to observe, 
that the reverence others had for all three was somewhat 
diminished.”—E d.] 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


“ Love is all gentleness and joy ; 

Smooth are his looks, and soft his pace ; 

Her Cupid is a blackguard hoy, 

That rubs his link full in your face !” 

Earl of Dorset. 


If any faith may be given to the scandalous chronicles of that 
period, the court of Cromwell; with its cant and cropped heads; its 
te weel spread loaves, and lang* wry faces/’ was not less licentious 
than that of Charles II.: the change was rather of manners than 
of morals ; of costume; rather than of character. In the days of 
Oliver; Folly stalked about in solemn guise, and hid his bauble 
under a Geneva cloak; and in those of Charles, he flourished his 
coxcomb, and the “peal of his bells rang* merrily out,”—and this 
was better at least than sanctified foolery and sober vice. cc The 
asinina stella ”* if not more predominant, was at all events more 
brilliant. It was not so much the supremacy of wickedness, as 
the magnanimous contempt of appearance—the brave defiance of 
decorum that distinguished the court and age of Charles II. 
from the solemnity of Cromwells and the dulness of William’s. 

“ The sin was of our native growth, ’tis true ; 

The scandal of the sin was whoHy new.” 

The various causes which led to that general licence of manners 
which prevailed after the Restoration, are recorded by the historian, 

* “ Che s’io non erro al calcolar de’ punti. 

Par ch’ asinina stella a noi predomini.” 

Salvator Ttosa. 






















THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


79 


and do not fall within the province of these lig’ht Memoirs: one of 
them was undoubtedly the personal character of that vain and 
profligate woman Avho, in the commencement of his reign, ruled 
the court and heart of Charles, and whose beauty and misconduct 
have doomed her to an infamous celebrity. 

Sir William Villiers, descended from the eldest branch of the 
house of Villiers, (the younger branch becoming Dukes of Buck¬ 
ingham,) succeeded his uncle, Oliver St. John, in the title of 
Viscount Grandison, in the kingdom of Ireland. On the breaking 
out of the civil wars, he, with all his family, adhered to the King’s 
party, and distinguished himself by his devoted loyalty and chi¬ 
valrous bravery. At the siege of Bristol, in 1643, he was des¬ 
perately wounded; and being carried to Oxford, died there a few 
days afterwards, at the age of thirty. Lord Clarendon, who 
relates the manner of his death, adds this captivating and well- 
drawn portrait :— u Lord Grandison was a young' man of so 
virtuous a habit of mind, that no temptation or provocation could 
corrupt him • so great a lover of justice and integrity, that no 
example, necessity, or even the barbarities of this war, could make 
him swerve from the most precise rules of it; and of that rare 
piety and devotion, that the court, or camp, could not show a more 
faultless person, or to whose example young men might more 
reasonably conform themselves. His personal valour and courag'e 
of all kinds (for he had sometimes indulged so much to the corrupt 
opinion of honour as to venture himself in duels) were very emi¬ 
nent, insomuch as he was accused of being too prodigal of his 
person; his affection, zeal, and obedience to the King, was such as 
became a branch of that family.” And he was wont to say, u that 
if he had not understanding enough to know the uprightness of the 
cause, nor loyalty enough to inform him of the duty of a subject, 
yet the very obligations of gratitude to the King, on the behalf of 
his house, were such as his life was but a due sacrifice \ and there¬ 
fore, he no sooner saw the Avar unavoidable, than he engaged all 
his brethren, as well as himself, in the service, and there Avere then 
three more of them in command in the army, Avhere he Avas so 


80 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


unfortunately cut off.” He married Mary, third daughter of Paul, 
Viscount Bayning, by whom he left an only daughter and heiress, 
Barbara Villiers, afterwards Duchess of Cleveland. 

Of the early life and education of this too celebrated woman, I 
have not been able to collect any authentic information. She 
married, at the ag*e of eighteen, Roger Palmer, Esq., a gentleman 
of fortune, and loyal adherent of the exiled King. Her first 
acquaintance with Charles probably commenced in Holland, whither 
she accompanied her husband in 1650, when he carried to the King* 
a considerable sum of money to aid in his restoration, and assisted 
him also by his personal services. But her connexion with Charles 
cannot he traced Avith any certainty before the very day of his 
entrance into London : on the evening of that day, Charles, instead 
of sleeping in the palace of his ancestors, to which he had just 
been restored, skulked aAvay privately to the house of Sir Samuel 
Morland, at Yauxliall, where he had an assignation with Mrs. 
Palmer. 

That an accomplished prince, in the prime of life, skilled in all 
the arts that ensnare her sex,—the sovereign for whose sake her 
father had fought and bled; whom she had just seen restored— 
miraculously restored, as it Avas then believed,—to the throne of 
his fathers, Avelcomed to his capital with almost delirious joy, and 
AA'ho, in such a moment, threw himself and his neAV-found kingdom 
at her feet, should have conquered the heart and triumphed over 
the virtue of a woman so vain and volatile, is not marvellous : she 
was only nineteen, and throAvn by the blind confidence or time¬ 
serving carelessness of her husband, into the very way of tempta¬ 
tion. Thus far her frailty, if not excusable, might have been 
pardoned, if the end had not proved that personal affection for the 
King had little to do with her lapse from virtue, and that, in short, 
she was more of a Montespan than a La Valli&re,—more of an 
Alice Pierce than a Jane Shore. 

In a feAV months after the Restoration, Palmer Avas created an 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


81 


Irish peer, with the title of Earl of Castlemaine. He, meekest of 
men, was, or affected to he, a little sulky and restive at first under 
his new dignities, hut means were soon found to pacify him * and 
he afterwards submitted to the coronet, and other honours which 
his beautiful wife showered on his head, with a spirit of philosophy 
and resignation which was quite edifying.* 

The passion of the King for Lady Castlemaine, and her 
influence over him, were at their height at the time that his 
marriage with Catherine of Portugal was, from political motives, 
resolved on. AV hen the Queen’s arrival at Portsmouth was 
announced in London, Charles was supping at Lady Castlemaine’s 
house in the Strand. Bonfires had been lighted, in token of 
respect and rejoicing, before every door in the street except hers— 
an omission which did not pass unobserved: nor did she attempt 
to conceal her despair, when the King left her to meet his bride. 
It was probably sincere ; for she had as much reason to dread, as 
all good men had to hope from, the influence of a young and 
beloved Queen. Unhappily her fears and others’ hopes proved 
groundless : the King could not break the fetters which her charms 

* “ But tliat which pleased me best was, that my Lady Castlemaine stood over 
against us upon a piece of White Hall. But methought it was strange to see 
her lord and her upon the same place, walking up and down, without taking 
notice one of another; only at first entry, he put off his hat, and she made him a 
very civil salute, but afterwards took no notice one of another ; hut both of them 
now and then would take their child, which the nurse held in her arms, and 
dandle it.” This was on occasion of the Queen’s triumphant entry into London? 
she being brought with great state by water from Hampton Court. Immediately 
after follows a trait of good-nature, which must not he suppressed, the rather 
because it is solitary: the worst, however, are not wholly had. A scaffolding 
happened to fall at the moment, and Lady Castlemaine was the only one among 
the great ladies of court, who, from an impulse of humanity, ran down among the 
* common rabble’ to see what injury had been done, and took charge of a poor 
child which had been hurt in the crowd, “ which methought was so noble. Anon 
came one booted and spurred, whom she talked with; and by and by, she being 
in her hair, she put on his hat, which was but an ordinary one, to keep the wind 
off: but it became her mightily, as every thing else do .”—Pepys Diary, vol. i. 

p. 161. 


G 


82 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


and her imperious temper had dung* round him, and the Queen 
had not beauty and tact enough to win him from her rival. 

Catherine had arrived in England with a fixed resolution not to 
admit Lady Castlemaine into her presence,—“her mother / 7 she 
said, “had enjoined her not to do so : 77 hut the King had deter¬ 
mined otherwise 5 and the gay courtiers, who had the most 
influence over his mind,, were precisely those who had every thing* 
to hope from the misrule of Lady Castlemaine, and nothing to 
expect from the countenance of Catherine. Charles, like all weak 
men, had a dread of being governed by a wife ; and they persuaded 
him that it was infinitely more magnanimous to be enslaved by a 
termagant mistress, than to comply with the reasonable demands 
of his Queen; and artfully represented the former, and not the 
latter, as the object of compassion. They observed, “ that he had, 
by the charms of his person and of his professions, prevailed upon 
the affections and heart of a young and beautiful lady of a noble 
extraction, whose father had lost his life in the service of the 
crown ) that she had provoked the jealousy and rage of her hus¬ 
band to that degree, that he had separated himself from her ; and 
now the Queen’s indignation had made the matter so notorious to 
the world, that the disconsolate lady had no place of retreat left, 
but must be made an object of infamy and contempt to all her sex, 
and to the whole world. 77 * 

To give colour to these insinuations, Lady Castlemaine had fled 
from the house of her husband,—not forgetting, however, to carry 
with her all her jewels, plate, and furniture,—and went over to 
Richmond, to be nearer Hampton Court, then the scene of battle. 

* “ Those discourses,” continues Lord Clarendon, “ together with a little book 
newly printed at Paris, according to the licence of that nation, of the amours of 
Henry IV,, which was by them presented to him, and too concernedly read by 
him, made that impression upon his mind,” &c.— Clarendon's Continuation , &c. 

It gratified the King to be compared to his grandfather, Henry IV. of Prance. 

In his fortunes and his failings there was some resemblance; in conduct and 
character, none whatever. 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND: 


83 


The issue of this affair has been given in the Memoir of Queen 
Catherine. Lady Castlemaine was created one of the ladies of the 
bed-chamber, and soon after lodged in Whitehall, where she occu¬ 
pied apartments immediately over those of the King’.* 

From this time may be dated the absolute power which this 
haugiity and abandoned woman exercised over the easy-tempered 
Charles,—an influence never exercised but for her own aggrandize¬ 
ment and his dishonour, or the ruin of his best friends and most faith¬ 
ful servants. In her chamber, and among* the profligate crew who 
surrounded her, was prepared the plot against Lord Chancellor Cla¬ 
rendon, which ended in the disgrace and banishment of that great 
nobleman, the earliest and best friend of her father.^ When he 
returned from Whitehall, after resigning the seals, she jumped out 
of bed in her night-dress to look down upon him as he passed, and 
stood upon her balcony, abusing him loudly, and in the coarsest 
terms her vulgar malice could suggest. When she quarrelled 
with the g*reat Duke of Ormond, who had offended her in many 
ways, but chiefly by refusing to sanction her enormous drains upon 
the Irish treasury, she reviled him, swore at him, and finally told 
him u she hoped to see him hanged.” To which the duke replied, 
with a grave humour becoming his character, that u far from wish¬ 
ing her ladyship’s days shortened in return, his greatest desire was 
to see her grow old.” 

But her countenance was always extended to those who flattered 

# See Pepys’ Diary, vol. i. p. 212.—“ My Lady Castlemaine is removed, as to 
her bed, from her own home to a chamber in Whitehall, next to the King’s 
owner which I am sorry to hear, though I love her much.” Honest Mr. Pepys 
is oddly divided between his sense of right and his extravagant admiration for the 
beauty of Lady Castlemaine, whose very petticoats, trimmed with lace, “ it did 
him good to look upon.” 

t The Lord Chancellor had refused to p\it the seal of office to some grant of a 
place which Lady Castlemaine had disposed of, saying he thought “the woman 
would sell every thing shortlywhich being repeated to her, she sent to tell him, 
“ that she had disposed of this place, and did not doubt in a little time to dispose 
of his.” She was as good as her word. 


84 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


her passions, ministered to her avarice, or were subservient to her 
pleasures. She indeed gave encouragement to Dryden in the 
beginning of his literary career 5 but it seems to have been more 
through contradiction than any perception of merit, that she per¬ 
sisted in patronizing his first and worst play, after it had been 
summarily executed. He repaid her interference by a copy of 
verses, which is a signal instance of the prostitution of his muse, 
and in which he compares her to Cato. One would have thought, 
that even a poet’s imagination, fired by admiration and gratitude, 
could scarcely find or make any comparison between the voluptu¬ 
ous vixen Castlemaine and the Roman Cato; hut, as Steele 
observes, u there is no stretching a metaphor too far when a lady 
is in the case.” 

The sums which this harpy contrived to appropriate from the 
funds of the state almost exceed belief. She was, to use Burnet’s 
coarse expression in speaking of her, u enormously ravenous it 
was, however, rather rapacity than avarice; for what was obtained 
unworthily, was lavished as extravagantly. Besides a grant of 
£5322 a-year out of the post-office, to her and her heirs, she had 
twenty thousand a-year out of the customs.* What sums were 
occasionally paid to her out of the revenues of Ireland cannot be 
ascretained, besides this income, immense in those days, she had 
at different times gifts in money, jewels, and plate, to an incredi¬ 
ble amount; and this at the time when the King’s household 
servants were cursing him because they had not bread to eat, and 
he himself wanted linen, and was stinted in writing-paper !f 

* “ Lord St. Jolm, Sir B. Howard, Sir John Bonnet, and Sir W. Bicknell, the 
brewer, have farmed the customs; they have signed and sealed ten thousand 
a-year more to the Duchess of Cleveland, who has likewise near ten thousand 
a-year out of the new farm of the Country Excise of beer and ale; £5000 a-year 
out of the post-office, and, they say, the reversion of all places in the Custom¬ 
house, the Green Wax, and indeed what not; all promotions, spiritual and tem¬ 
poral, pass under her cognizance.” — Andrew Marvel's Letters. “Barclay 
(Berkeley^ is still Lieutenant of Ireland : but he was forced to come over to pay 
ten thousand pounds rent to his landlady, Cleveland.”— lb. 

f “ This day I was told that my Lady Castlemaine hath all the King’s Christ- 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


85 

Berkshire-House was purchased for her by the King, in 1068 • 
and as it was of great extent, she added to her income by con¬ 
verting’ part of it into separate houses and letting- them $* but all 
was too little to supply her monstrous expenditure. Among* her 
other extravagances was the vice of gaming, in one night she lost 
at Basset £25,000, and was accustomed to stake one thousand, 
and fifteen hundred pounds at a cast. 

As the fair Castlemaine was one of those ladies who would 
u whisk the stars out of their spheres” rather than lose one iota of 
their will, it may be imagined that her connexion with the King 
was not one long summer’s day, all serenity and sunshine. In 
fact, not satisfied with u nodding him from the council-board” 
whenever the whim seized her, she gave way to such inexplicable 
caprices, and, upon the slightest cause, to such bursts of tempes¬ 
tuous passion, that she sometimes threw the whole court into an 
uproar, and drove the poor King half distracted. It is observable 
that as soon as she was well-assured of her power over Charles, 
and understood his character, she never attempted to carry any 
point by tenderness or cajolery ; but, by absenting herself from 
court, or by direct violence, she hectored him, as Pepys says, out 
of his wits,— 

“ And, with bent lowering brows, as she would threat, 

She scowl’d and frown’d with froward countenance 
Unworthy of fair lady’s comely governance.” 

Spenser. 

Charles, wearied by the din of her vituperative tongue, and 
pained by the disagreeable sight of so beautiful a face deformed by 
demon passions, hastened to relieve his eyes and ears by granting 

mas presents, made him by the peers, given to her, which is a most abominable 
thing : and that at the great ball she was much richer in jewels, than the Queene 
and Duchesse (of York) put both together.”— Pepys ’ Diary , vol. i. p. 204. 

* Berkshire-House was formerly the town mansion of the Howards, Earls of 
Berkshire, and afterwards of Lord Clarendon. It stood on the site of the Mar¬ 
quis of Stafford’s princely residence, and the name of its former proprietor is still 
perpetuated in Cleveland-row. 


80 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


her demands, however exorbitant. At times, however, being’ 
driven past the bounds of patience, he would make an attempt at 
resistance, which was sure to end in his discomfiture, borne 
instances on record of her coarse manners and termag’ant temper 
are ludicrous, and some disgusting 1 .* Once, on some slighting 
words from the King, she called for her coach at a quarter of an 
hour’s warning, and, taking with her her plate, jewels, and 
favourite servants, went off' to Richmond ; the King, under pre¬ 
tence of hunting, followed her there ; and before he could prevail 
on her to return, he was forced to beg pardon on his knees, and, 
like a little hoy that had been whipped, promised u to do so no 
more.” 

On another occasion it happened that the Queen, conversing in 
her drawing-room with the ladies in attendance, observed to Lady 
Castlemaine that she feared that the King* took cold by staying so 
late abroad at her ladyship’s house. Her ladyship answered, that 
the King did not stay late with her: on the contrary, he left 
her early • therefore she was not answerable for his taking cold : 
if he stayed late abroad, it must be somewhere else. The King’, 
entering at that moment, overheard this insinuation, and sudden 
anger inspired him with unwonted spirit. He whispered in her 
ear that she was a bold impertinent woman, and commanded her 
to leave the court, and not appear again till he sent for her. The 
indignant fair one took him at his word, and retired to lodgings in 
Pall Mall. When she had remained there two days unnoticed, 
she began to he alarmed, and sent to ask permission to take her 
thing’s from Whitehall. The Kina’ informed her she must come 
for them. To which, after a furious struggle between pride and 
policy, she condescended; and, the King meeting her there, was, 
after the usual submissions, forgiven, and harmony restored. 

* On a certain occasion, the King being engaged to sup with her, “ there 
being a chine of beef to roast, and the tide rising into their kitchen that it could 
not be roasted there, and the cook telling her of it, she answered, ‘ Zounds ! she 
must set the house on fire, but it must be roasted!’ So it was carried to Mrs. 
Sarah’s husband’s, and there it was roasted.” — Pepys' Diary, vol. i. p. 253. 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


87 


The Duke of Bucking-ham’s disgrace, in 1667, was the occasion 
of a most hitter quarrel. The duke was her kinsman, some say 
her lover, or at least her worthy coadjutor in all schemes of mis¬ 
chief and extravag*ance; and she took up his cause with all the 
determined violence of her temper and disposition. The conse¬ 
quence was a regular hurricane. The King told her she was u a 
jade that meddled with things she had nothing to do with at all;” 
and the lady retorted by calling his most sacred majesty a fool. 
In the end she prevailed, as usual, and Buckingham was restored 
to favour. 

On another occasion, the King ventured to express his doubts 
as to his being the father of her youngest child. She was then 
near her confinement; and in a transport of rage she exclaimed, 
or rather swore, for her exclamations were usually oaths, that 
u whoever was the father, the King should own it; and she would 
have it christened in the chapel at Whitehall, and owned for the 
King’s, or she would bring it into the Whitehall gallery, and dash 
the brains of it out before the King’s faceand forthwith she 
retired to the house of Sir Daniel Hervey, and shut herself up. 
The King was obliged to follow her, hearing that she threatened 
to print his letters, a threat she was very capable of executing. 
He there made concessions on his knees, and she was prevailed on 
to return to Whitehall ,— u not as a mistress, for she scorned him, 
but as a tyrant to command him.” The last and most tempestuous 
of these disgraceful scenes ended in her being raised to the dignity 
of Duchess. It is related by De Grammont in his happiest style 
of badinage. The King, it seems, had for some time shared her 
good graces with the accomplished Wycherly,* the handsome 
Churchill,! and a score of meaner rivals. But at length, though 

* The commencement of her acquaintance with Wycherly is too characteristic 
to be given here. It may be found in Grainger, and in Dennis’s Letters. 

f Afterwards Duke of Marlborough. The five thousand pounds which the 
Duchess of Cleveland gave him, laid the foundation of his fortunes, by enabling 
him to purchase a commission. Yet he was afterwards known to refuse her 
twenty guineas, which she wanted to borrow from him at Basset. 


88 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


not particularly nice in such matters, and averse to excite the 
storms he found it so difficult to allay, he began to he somewhat 
scandalized at the open infidelities of a woman whom he had so 
publicly distinguished, and ventured a little advice and raillery on 
the subject of one of her lovers (the a invincible Jermyn,”) whom 
he considered a rival more contemptible and disreputable than 
Harte, Goodman, or Jacob Hall himself.* His imperious Sultana 
took fire instantly, and blazed away like a mine of gunpowder. 
Instead of defending herself, she attacked the King. She 
reproached him with the baseness of his penchants , his devotion 
to such idiots as Miss Stewart, Miss Wells, and that u petite gueuse 
de comedienne” (meaning Nell Gwynn): then followed floods of 
tears, and paroxysms of rage, in which she threatened, like another 
Medea, to tear her children in pieces, and fire his palace over his 
head. The King had never ventured to contend for peace without 
paying pretty largely for it; for, what was to he done with a fury; 
who on these occasions, all beautiful as she was, resembled Medea 
much less than one of her dragons ? In the present instance, 
though his attachment to the lady was on the decline, and Miss 
Stewart reigned the goddess paramount of the day, he was obliged 
to buy a reconciliation at a dear rate. The Chevalier de Grammont 
was called in as mediator, and drew up articles of peace ; in which 
it was agreed that Lady Castlemaine’s new lover should be sent to 
make a little tour into the country : that she should raise no more 
disturbances on the subject of Miss Wells and Miss Stewart j and, 
in consideration of so much amiable condescension on the lady’s 
part, she should he elevated to the rank of a Duchess, with all the 
honours and privileges pertaining to the title, and her pension 
doubled, to enable her to support her new dignity with becoming 
eclat. Soon afterwards, u in consideration of her noble descent, 
her father’s death in the service of the crown, and by reason (as 


* The two former were celebrated actors, and the latter a rope-dancer. 
Harte, of the King’s company, had been a captain in the army, and was the finest 
actor of that day: he excelled in Othello. There is a picture of Harte in the 
Beauty-room at Windsor. 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


89 


the letters patent set forth) of her own personal virtues she was 
created Baroness of Nonsuch, Countess of Southampton, and 
Duchess of Cleveland. The title of Southampton must have 
doubly gratified her, as having- been that of her old enemy, the 
excellent Lord Southampton, who had frequently excited her 
utmost displeasure, by refusing- to put his seal as Treasurer to her 
exorbitant grants of money, &c. 

After this last rupture, and her elevation of rank, the duchess 
withdrew from the court, though she still occasionally appeared 
there : her influence over the King did not entirely cease till the 
reign of the Duchess of Portsmouth began, but she was no longer 
all powerful; and gradually as she debased herself more and more 
by her excesses, she sank into neglect and contempt. Pepys 
alludes in his Diary to a quarrel about this time between Lady 
Castlemaine and the Duchess of Bichmond (the predecessor to the 
fair Stewart in that title,) which threw the whole court into con¬ 
fusion • “wherein the Duchess of Richmond did call my Lady 
Castlemaine Jane Shore, and hoped she should five to see her come 
to the same end.” There was, in truth, some poetical justice in 
the catastrophe of the Duchess of Cleveland, though the Duchess 
of Richmond had not the comfort of living’ to witness it. On the 
death of the Earl of Castlemaine, in 1703, she married a man of 
desperate fortune and profligate habits, well known by the name of 
Beau Fielding, and unequalled in those days for the beauty of 
his person.* Fielding had married her for the sake of her money j 
and when she either could not, or would not, any longer supply 
his extravag’ances, he so barbarously ill-treated her, that she was 
obliged to have recourse to a magistrate for protection againt his 
outrages. Fortunately for her, it was discovered that he had a 
former wife living, a low woman, who had cheated him as he had 
cheated all the rest of her sex. FTe was prosecuted for bigamy, 
found guilty, but pardoned by Queen Anne. His conviction 


* See “The Tatler,” No. 50, for the “History of Orlanclo the Fair,” i.e. the 
above-mentioned Beau Fielding : it is from the pen of Swift. 


90 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


relieved the duchess from his brutality, but she did not long' survive 
it: she died of a dropsy at her house at Chiswick, October 9, 
1709, miserable, contemned, and neglected; leaving' a name more 
fitted to a point a moral,” than to u adorn a tale.” 

The Duchess of Cleveland was the mother of six children, three 
sons and three daughters. Charles Fitzroy, her eldest son by the 
King', was born in 1062, and created, during' the lifetime of his 
mother, Baron Newberry, Earl of Chichester, and Duke of South¬ 
ampton. On her death, he succeeded to the title of Duke of 
Cleveland, in which he was succeeded by his son William ; after 
whose death, in 1774, the title became extinct, and has not since 
been revived. 

Her second son, Henry Fitzroy, born in 1603, was created 
Baron of Sudbury, Viscount Ipswich, Earl of Euston, and Duke 
of Grafton. He was eminently handsome in his person, of a brave 
and martial spirit; but roug'h, illiterate, and rude in his manners. 
He married Isabella, only daughter and heiress of Harry Bennett, 
Earl of Arlington,* and was killed by a cannon ball at the sieg’e 

* This Duchess of G-rafton was the most beautiful woman of her time; hut it 
was in the court of William, and not in that of Charles, that she reigned supreme 
“lady of hearts,” and was celebrated by all the wits and poets of the day. Her 
picture is among the “ Beauties” at Hampton Court. She bore to the end of 
her long life a most irreproachable character. I am tempted to add the following 
entries from Evelyn’s Diary, which throw considerable interest round her prema¬ 
ture union with the Duke of Grafton: she was then five, and the Duke nine 
years old. “ 1672. Aug. 1. I was at the marriage of Lord Arlington’s lovely 
daughter (a sweet child if ever there was any) to the Duke of G-rafton, the King’s 
natural son by the Duchess of Cleveland ; the Archbishop of Canterbury officia¬ 
ted, the King and all the grandees of the court being present.” The infant 
couple were married again in 1679, she being twelve years old and her husband 
sixteen. “ I confess,” says Evelyn, “ I could give my Lady Arlington little joy, 
and so I plainly told her; but she said the King would have it so, and there was 
no going back. Thus this sweetest, hopefullest, most beautiful child, and most 
virtuous too, was sacrificed to a boy that has been rudely bred, without any 
thing to encourage them but his majesty’s pleasure. I pray God the sweet 
child find it to her advantage; who, if my augury deceive me not, will in a few 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


91 


of Cork, 1G90, where he served under Marlborough as a volunteer. 
He was ancestor to the noble family of Fitzroy, in all its branches; 
the present Duke of Grafton being* the fourth, and the present 
Lord Southampton the fifth, in descent from him. 

George Fitzroy, her third son, was created by his father Earl 
and Duke of Northumberland. He was weak and dissipated, 
married meanly, and died without issue. 

Anne Palmer Fitzroy, her eldest daughter, was born in 1661. 
The Earl of Castlemaine always considered this daughter as his 
offspring*; but the King, by giving her the name of Fitzroy, 
assigning* her the royal arms, and portioning* her nobly at her 
marriage, seemed determined to claim a share of the parentage. 
She married Lennard Lord Dacre and Earl of Sussex, and left 
two daughters. 

(D 


Charlotte Fitzroy, who rivalled her mother in beauty, but was 
far unlike her in every other respect, married the Earl of Lichfield, 
by whom she was the mother of eighteen children: one of her 
daughters, Lady Elizabeth Lee, married Young*, the author of the 
Night Thoughts. 

Barbara, her young'est daughter, whom the King* acknowledged 
in public, but not in private, became a nun at Pontoise. 

The beauty of the Duchess of Cleveland was of that splendid 


years be such a paragon, as were fit to make a wife to the greatest prince in 
Europe. 

“ 1683. I went to compliment the Duchess of Grafton, now laying-in of her 
first child, a son, which she called for, that I might see it. She was become more 
beautiful, if it were possible, than before, and full of virtue and sweetness. She 
discoursed with me of many particulars with great prudence and gravity beyond 
her years.” This youthful and lovely mother was then just fifteen. She lived 
to walk at the Coronation of George II. as Coimtess of Arlington in her own 
right, and died in 1732. 


92 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


and commanding* character, that dazzles rather than interests ; it 
was, however, perfect in its kind. At a time when she was most 
unpopular, and her charms and excesses were creating- disturbances 
in the court and disaffection in the country, she went to Bartholo¬ 
mew Fair to view “the rare puppet-show of Patient Grizzle,” (by 
which, it is to be hoped, she was greatly edified). The rabble, 
recognizing- her equipage, followed it with hisses and curses ; but 
when she stepped out, and looked round in all the proud conscious¬ 
ness of irresistible beauty, the people, struck with admiration, 
changed their curses into blessings “on her handsome face,” 
though it had helped to undo a nation. The picture at AVindsor, 
(from which the portrait is eng*raved) represents her as Pallas, or 
Bellona: the last is certainly the more appropriate character; it 
is full of the imperious expression of the original. The face is 
perfectly beautiful \ the rich red lips are curled with arrogance 
and “ womanish disdain,” and the eyes look from under their 
drooping lids with a certain fierceness of expression; the action, 
the attitude, the accompaniments, are all those of a virago; she 
grasps the spear with the air of an all-conquering beauty, and 
leans on her shield as if she disdained to use it; while the grand 
tempestuous sky in the background, with broken gleams of light 
flashing across it, is in admirable keeping with the whole. 


[In the amusing entries of Pepys’ Diary, we may trace the dif¬ 
ferent vicissitudes of the Duchess of Cleveland’s reign over the 
King; vicissitudes, indeed, which were not very great, for when 
the King’s attachment to her was diminished, she still kept her 
place by her own effrontery. She was evidently much alarmed on 
the arrival of the Queen, fearing at once to lose her influence ; and 
there is every reason for belie vino* that her introduction at 
Hampton Court was a plan of her own, a resolution to make a 
desperate struggle for superiority at the outset. She succeeded, 
and the first years of the King’s marriage were those of her 
greatest power. She still, however, showed outwardly, at least at 
times, something like attention to the Queen. Pepys, whose curi- 



THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


93 


osity led him to see the ceremonies at the Queen’s Catholic chapel 
when it was first opened, which was not long’ after the duchess 
had been received a Maid of Honour, describes the Queen’s devout¬ 
ness, and adds, “ but what pleased me best was to see my dear 
Lady Castlemaine, who, though a Protestant, did wait upon the 
Queene to Chapel.” Pepys’s admiration of the beauty of the 
royal mistress was now at its height, so as even to draw a rebuke 
from ‘ his lady/ a she calling’ her my lady, and the lady I admire.” 
In the latter part of 1GG3, her influence seems to have been some¬ 
what on the decline, and from this time till 1G66, she was in part 
eclipsed by the beauty of Miss Stewart. It is singular how the 
admiration of Pepys changes with the King’s love. In 1GG3, 
when he hears that Castlemaine is declining* in the royal favour, 
he observes, “ Saw 7 my Lady Castlemaine, who, I fear, is not so 
handsome as I have taken her for, and now 7 she beg’ins to decay 
something-. This is my wife’s opinion also.” Miss Stewart was 
now* the object of his praise. “ Mrs. Stewart is now the g’reatest 
beauty I ever saw 7 , I think, in my life; and, if ever woman can, do 
exceed my Lad} 7 Castlemaine.” In 1GG4 he observes, “My wife 
tells me the sad news of my Lady Castlemaine’s being now become 
so decayed, that one would not know 7 her; at least far from a 
beauty, which I am sorry for.” Again, in the early part of 1666, 
“ I w r as sorry to see my Lady Castlemaine; for the mourning 
forcing all the ladies to go in black, with their hair plain, and 
without spots, I find her to be a much more ordinary woman than 
ever I durst have thought she was; and, indeed, is not so pretty 
as Mrs. Stewart.” Poor Pepys ! how many circumstances, inde¬ 
pendent of their own taste, influence people in judging of beauty 
and excellence. 

It was not long after the period when the last of these observa¬ 
tions w r as made, that occurred the anecdote above related by Mrs. 
Jameson, (at p. 88.) In the latter part of this year, though she 
seems still to have been out of favour, the King paid Lady Castle¬ 
maine’s debts to the amount of thirty thousand pounds j and after 
the marriage of Miss Stew r art to the Puke of Richmond, in 1GG7, 


94 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


she regained all her influence; and ; to use the expression of the 
Diary ; hectored the King to whatever she would. u My cousin 
Roger/’ says PepyS; u told us as a thing certain; that my Lady 
Castlemaine hath made a bishop lately; namely; her uncle; Dr. 
Glenhani; who; I think they say; is Bishop of Carlisle ; a drunken; 
swearing raskal; and a scandal to the church; and do now pretend 
to be Bishop of Lincoln; in competition with Dr. Raynbow ; who 
is reckoned as worthy a man as most in the church for piety and 
learning: which are things so scandalous to consider; that no man 
can doubt but we must be undone that hears of them.” Her con¬ 
duct now seems so far to have increased her unpopularity; and 
things appeared to be in so critical a posture; that in 1667 there 
was a serious design of getting rid of her for a time, in order to 
propitiate the parliament. It was rumoured that she would go to 
France with a pension; but her influence was too high; and she 
could not be brought to agree to the proposal. In the May of 
the following year Pepys observes; u My Lady Castlemaine is; it 
seems; now mightily out of request; the King coming little to her; 
and then she mighty melancholy and discontented.” The Duke of 
Buckingham; who now came into full power; was also suddenly 
opposed to her; as we learn from the same authority; and the 
design of sending her to France seems to have been again enter¬ 
tained towards the end of 1668. A letter preserved in the British 
Museum; (MS. Harl. No. 7001;) dated from London; the 5th of 
December in that year; informs us that a a report is here also that 
m}’ Lady Castlemaine intends to make a short journey into France ; 
but I believe the resolution is not yet fixt, though to invite her my 
Lord Hawbry offers himselfe to attend her thither.” Soon after 
this, in the January of 1668-9; we learn from Pepys u that my 
Lady Castlemaine is now in a higher command over the King than 
ever;— not as a mistress, for she scorns him, but as a tyrant to 
command him.” 

From this time we hear little more of Lady Castlemaine in 
Pepys. The project of sending her to France seems at a later 
period to have been put in practice; and she was residing there in 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


95 


1078. The following* letter, from the British Museum, shows that 
even there she was still intriguing*:— 

O O 

Ralph Duke of Mountague* to his Cousin. 

“ Paris, March 29, 167S. O.S. 

“ Sir, 

u I am out of countenance at all the troubles you 
are pleased to give yourself in my concerns. I have heard some¬ 
thing- of what you tell me of the Queen’s eng-ag-ement to my Lady 
Arling-ton; but so many things come between the cup and the lip, 
especially at court, that till thing’s are done, one must never despair, 
no more than I do of being* Secretary of State, if my lord continues 
his favour to me, and can work off Sir William Temple. I know 
for certain that there is a great cabal to bring* in Mr. Savile, who 
writ a letter last post to my Lady Cleveland, that his fortune 
depended upon her coming* over, for that he had eng*ag*ed his 
unkle, Secretary Coventry, for his place, but could not compass 
money to buy it, except she g*ot him the King’s leave to sell his 
bedchamber place, and some additional money to help. You may 
let my Lord Treasurer know this, but it must be kept very secret, 
for else it would hinder me knowing many things that may be for 
his service. It is not very well in Mr. Savile, who has those ob¬ 
ligations to my Lord Treasurer, to manage such an affair under¬ 
hand. For my part, I care not for the place, except I come in 
with his favour and kindness. I have tried no other ways to com¬ 
pass it, neither will I. Pray put my Lord Treasurer in mind of 
me, with the assurance that he has no servant truer to him than 
myself, nor more entirely. 

Dear Cousin, 

Your most faithful humble servant, 

R. Mountague.” 

We find, indeed, that not long after this letter was written, the 
duchess was in England, whether on the errand there alluded to 


* He was at this time ambassador at the French court. 


00 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


or not ; we cannot venture to say. On her return to Paris, she 
addressed the following* letter to the King*. It is preserved among* 
the Harleian manuscripts, in a volume of letters, numbered 7006, 
and affords us a sing*ularly curious picture of her intriguing* spirit, 
now smarting* under the united sting-s of disappointment, humilia¬ 
tion, and ang*er. 


“ Pakis, Tuesday the 28th, —78. 

a I was never so surprized in my holle life-time as I was, at my 
coming* hither, to find my Lady Sussex gone from my house and 
monastery where I left her, and this letter from her, which I here 
send you a copy of. I never saw in my holle life-time such 
government of herself as she has had, since I went into England. 
She has never been in the monastery two days together, but every 
day gone out with the ambassador '* and has often lain four days 
together at my house, and sent for her meat to the ambassador, he 
being* always with her till five o’clock in the morning, they two 
shut up together alone, and would not let any maistre d’hotel 
Avait, nor any of my servants, only the ambassador’s. This made 
so great a noise at Paris, that she is iioav the holle discourse. I 
am so much afflicted that I can hardly write this for crying, to see 
a child that I doted on as I did on her, should make so ill return, 
and join Avith the worst of men to ruin me. For sure never malice 
Avas like the ambassador’s, that only because I Avould not answer 
to his love, and the importunities he made to me, was resolved to 
ruin me. I hope your majesty will yet have that justice and con¬ 
sideration for me, that thoug’h I have done a foolish action, you 
will not let me be ruined by this most abominable man. I do 
confess to you that I did write a foolish letter to the Chevalier de 
Chatillon, which letter I sent inclosed to Madam de Pallas, and 
sent hers in a packet I sent to Lady Sussex by Sir Henry Tich- 
born; which letter she has either given to the ambassador, or else 
he had it by his man, to whom Sir Henry Ticliborn gave it, not 
finding my Lady Sussex. But as yet I do not knoAV which of 


* Ralph Mountague, afterwards Duke of Mountngue. 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


97 


the ways he had it, but I shall know as soon as I have spoke with 
Sir Henry Ticliborn. But the letter he has, and I doubt not but 
lie has or will send it to you. Now all I have to say for myself 
is, that you know as to love ; one is not mistress of one’s self, and 
that you ought not to be offended at me, since all things of this 
nature is at end with you and I, so that I could do you no 
prejudice. Nor will you, I hope, follow the advice of this ill man, 
who in his heart I know hates you, and were it not for his interest 
would ruin you if he could. For he has neither conscience nor 
honour, and has several times told me, that in his heart he despised 
you and your brother; and that for his part, he wished with all 
his heart that the parliament would send you both to travel, for 
you were a dull governable fool, and the duke a wilful fool. So 
that it were yet better to have you than him, but that you always 
chose a greater beast than yourself to govern you. And when I 
was to come over, he brought me two letters to bring to you, 
which he read both to me before he sealed them. The one was a 
man’s, that he said you had great faith in; for that he had at 
several times foretold things to you that were of consequence,* and 
that you believed him in all things, like a changeling' as you were. 
And that now he had wrote you word, that in a few months the 
Kino- of France and his son were threatened with death, or at 
least with a great fit of sickness, in which they would be in great 
danger, if they did not die ; and that therefore he counself d you 
to defer any resolutions either of war or peace till some months 
were past; for that if this happened, it would make a great change 
in France. The ambassador, after he had read this to me, said, 
‘ Now the good of this is/ said he, f that I can do what I will with 
this man; for he is poor, and a good sum of money will make him 
write whatever I will.’ So he proposed to me that he and I 
should join together in the ruin of my Lord Treasurer and the 
Duchess of Portsmouth, which might be done thus:—The man, 
though he was infirm and ill, should go into England, and there, 

* See Burnet’s History of his Own Times, vol. i. p. 422. 

H 


08 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


after having* been a little time, to sollicit you tor money; for that 
you were so base, that though you employed him, you let him 
starve; so that he was obliged to give him 50/., and that the man 
had writ several times to you for money. And, says he, when he 
is in England, he shall tell the King things that he foresees will 
infallible ruin him ; and so wish those to he removed, as having an 
ill star, that would be unfortunate to you if they were not removed : 
hat if that were done, he was confident you would have the most 
glorious reign that ever was. This, sa} T s he, I am sure I can 
order so as to bring to good effect, if you will. And in the mean 
time, I will try to get Secretary Coventry’s place, which he has a 
mind to part with, hut not to Sir William Temple ; because he is 
the Treasurer’s creature, and he hates the Treasurer; and I have 
already employed my sister to talk with Mr. Cook, and to mind 
him to engage Mr. Coventry not to part with it as yet, and he has 
assured my Lady Harvey he will not. And my Lord Treasurer’s 
lady and Mr. Bertie are both of them desirous I should have it. 
And when I have it, I will be damn’d if I do not quickly get to he 
Lord Treasurer ; and then vou and your children shall find such a 
friend as never was. And for the King, I will find a way to 
furnish him so easily with money for his pocket and wenches, that 
we will quickly out Bab. May, and lead the King by the nose. 
So when I had heard him out, I told him I thank’d him, hut that 
I would not meddle with any such thing*: and that, for my part, 
I had no malice to m} r Lady Portsmouth, or to the Treasurer, and 
therefore would never be in any plot to destroy them. But that I 
found the character which the world gave him was true: which 
was, that the Devil was not more designing than he was, and that 
I wondered at it; for sure all these things working in his brain 
must make him very uneasy, and would at last make him mad. 
’Tis possible you may think I say this out of malice. ’Tis true he 
has urged me beyond all patience: hut what I tell you here is 
most true; and I will take the sacrament on it whenever you 
please. ’Tis certain I would not have been so base as to have 
informed against him for what he had said before me had he not 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


99 


provoked to it in this violent way that he has. There is no ill 
thing* which he has not done me ; and that without any provocation 
of mine, hut that I would not love him. Now, as to what 
relates to my daughter Sussex, and her behaviour to me, I must 
confess that afflicts me beyond expression, and will do much 
more, if what he has done he by your orders. For though I 
have an entire submission to your will, and will not complain 
whatever you inflict upon me; yet I cannot think you would have 
brought things to this extremity with me, and not have it in your 
nature ever to do cruel things to any thing* living*. I hope you 
will not therefore begin with me; and if the ambassador has not 
received his orders from you, that you will severe^ reprehend him 
for this inhuman proceeding. Besides, he has done what you 
ought to be very angry with him for. For he has been with the 
King of France, and told him that he had intercepted letters of 
mine by 3 'our order * by which he had been informed that there 
was a kindness between me and the Chevalier de Chatillon; and 
therefore 3*011 bad him take a course in it, and stop my letters; 
which according^* he has done. And that upon this 3*011 order’d 
him to take 1113 * children from me, and to remove m 3 * Lady Sussex 
to another monastery; and that 3*011 was resolved to stop all my 
pensions, and never to have an 3 r regard to me in any thing'. And 
that if he would oblige 3 * 0111 ’ majest 3 *, he should forbid the 
Chevalier de Chatillon ever seeing me, upon the displeasure of 
losing his place, and being forbid the court, for he was sure 3*011 
expected this from him. Upon which the King told him, that he 
could not do an 3 * thing of this nature : for that this was a private 
matter, and not for him to take notice of. And that he could not 
imagine that 3 *ou ought to he so angiy, or indeed he at all con¬ 
cerned • for that all the world knew, that now all things of gallan¬ 
try were at an end with 3 *ou and I. And that being so, and so 
publick, he did not see why 3*011 should be offended at my loving* 
any bod 3 *. That it was a thing so common nowadays to have a 
gallantry, that he did not wonder at any thing of this nature. 
And when he saw the King take the thing thus, he told him if he 
would not be severe with the Chevalier de Chatillon upon 3 *our 
account, he supposed he would be upon his own: for that in the 


100 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


letters he had discovered, he had found that the Chevalier had 
proposed to me the engaging’ of you in the marriage of the 
Dauphin and Mademoiselle and that was my greatest business 
into England.f That before I went over, I had spoke to him of 
the thino- and would have enomsfed him in it; hut that he refused 
it: for that he knew very well the indifference you had whether it 
was so or no, and how little you cared how Mademoiselle was 
married: that since I went into England it was possible I might 
engage somebody or other in this matter to press it to you • but 
that he knew very well, that in your heart you cared not whether 
it was so or no : that this business was set on foot by the Chevalier. 
Upon which the King told him, that if he would shew him any 
letters of the Chevalier de Chatillon to that purpose, he should then 
know what he had to say to him • but till he saw those letters he 
would not punish him without a proof for what he did. Upon which 
the ambassador shewed a letter, which he pretended one part of it 
was double entendre. The King said he could not see that there 
was any thing relating to it, and so left him, and said to a person 
there, c Sure the ambassador was the worst man that ever was ; 
for because my Lady Cleveland will not love him, he strives to 
ruin her the basest in the world, and would have me to sacrifice 
the Chevalier de Chatillon to his revenge; which I shall not do, 
till I see better proofs of his having meddled in the marriage of 
the Dauphin and Mademoiselle than any yet the ambassador has 
shewed me/ This methinks is what }’ou cannot but be offended at, 
and I hope you will be offended with him for his liolle proceedino- 
to me, and let the world see you will never countenance the actions 
of so base and ill a man. I had forg-ot to tell you that he told the 
King of France, that many people had reported that he had made 
love to me ; but there was nothing of it • for that he had too much 
respect for you to think of any such thing. As for my Lady 
Sussex, I hope you will think fit to send for her over, for she is 
now mightily discoursed of for the ambassador. If you will not 

* Mademoiselle was the daughter of Philip, Duke of Orleans, and Henriette, 
sister of King Charles II. 

t This was Mountague’s own proposal, made to the King in his letter to him of 
Jan. 10th, 1677-8, preserved in the Danby Papers, p. 48. 


THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND. 


101 


believe me in this, make enquiry into the thing, and you will find 
it to he true. I have desired Mr. Kemble to give you this letter, 
and to discourse with you at large upon this matter, to know your 
resolution, and whether I may expect that justice and goodness 
from you which all the world does. I promise you that for my 
conduct, it shall be such, as that you nor nobody shall have occa¬ 
sion to blame me. And I hope you will be just to what you said 
to me, which was at my house, when you told me you had letters 
of mine ; you said, c Madam, all that I ask of you for your own 
sake is, live so for the future as to make the least noise you can, 
and I care not who you love/ Oh ! this noise that is had never 
been, had it not been for the ambassador’s malice. I cannot for¬ 
bear once again saying, I hope you will not gratify his malice in 
my ruin.” 

At the beginning of the year 1679, the Duchess of Cleveland 
was again in England, contrary it would seem to the King’s will; 
for in the same volume which contains the preceding letter, is also 
preserved the following order from the King to the duchess, that 
she should immediately quit the country. 

“ AViiitehall, Feb. ye 28, 78-9. 

u I have already given you my reasones at large, why I 
think it fitt that you should absent yourself for some time beyond 
sea: as I am truely sorry for the occasion, so you may be sure I 
shall desire it no longer than it will be absolutely necessary both 
for your good and my service. In y e meantime I think it proper 
to give you notice under my hand, that I expect this compliance 
from you, and desire that you may believe with what trouble I write 
this to you, there being nothing I am more sensible off, than 
y e constant kindness you have ever had for me ; and I hope you 
are so just as to think nothing can ever change me from being 

truely and kindly 
Yours, 

Chas. Rex.” 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


“ A woman of that rare behaviour, 

So qualified, that admiration 

Dwells round about her; of that perfect spirit, 

That admirable carriage, 

That sweetness in discourse—young as the morning, 
Her blushes staining his.” 

Fletcher. 


The Countess de Grammont ; or rather, to give her the fair 
and merited title by which she is better known, La Belle 
Hamilton — young-, beautiful, wise, and witty, and discreet 
withal, u even to detraction’s desperation,” seemed to have been 
placed in Charles’s court purposely to redeem the credit of her sex. 
She moved, in that proflig-ate sphere, in an orbit of her own : there 
were some, indeed, rash enough to reach at stars because they 
shone upon them, but she was beyond a mere coxcomb’s bight; 
and on she passed, looking superior down in all the majesty of 
virtue, and all the light of loveliness. 

“ Tal vagbeggiata in ciel o luna, o stella, 

Che segue altiera il suo viaggio, et splende.” 

La Belle Hamilton!—the very name has a spell in it of power 
to carry us back a century and a half. What bright visions rise 
of flirtations at Summer Hill, and promenades at Tunbridge Wells! 
—of Maids of Honour, coffees ct la negligence , and gay gallants 
in perfumed periwigs!—what corantos, and galliards, and court 







































































































































































































THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


103 


balls, and country frolics; and poor Lady Muskerry and her 
bambino , and her costume a la Princesse de Babylon !—But we 
must descend to grave biography, and take thing’s in order. The 
advice of the giant Moulineau, u Belier , mon ami ! commencez au 
commencement” is excellent; particularly when we are writing* or 
reading* the life of a celebrated beauty,—where the conclusion is 
to the beginning*, like a musty moral out of Epictetus tacked to 
the end of a fairy tale. 

Sir Georg*e Hamilton, fourth son of Jaines first Earl of Aber- 
corn, after distinguishing* himself greatly in the civil wars, retired 
to France on the death of the King*, his master. He resided 
abroad for several years, had a command in the French army, and 
in France several of his children were born and most of them 
educated; which accounts for the predilection they afterwards 
showed for that country.* At the Restoration, Sir Georg’e Hamil¬ 
ton returned to England with a numerous family of gallant sons 
and lovely daughters ; among* them Elizabeth Hamilton, his 
eldest daughter, who being then just of an ag*e to be introduced at 
court, soon became one of its principal ornaments. 

She appeared in that gay and splendid circle with many advan¬ 
tages. She was of noble descent, allied to the most illustrious 
families of England, Scotland and Ireland * she was the niece of 
the Duke of Ormond, her mother being the sister of that great 
nobleman * her eldest brother was groom of the bedchamber, and 
a special favourite of the King; her two younger brothers were 
distinguished among the brave and gay: she herself united to a 
most captivating* person and manner, such accomplishments as few 
women of her time possessed, and which she had cultivated during* 
her father’s exile. It does not appear that Miss Hamilton 
accepted any ostensible office near the person of the Queen, or of 
the Duchess of York; but she was soon distinguished by the 


* Two of Miss Hamilton’s brothers died in the service of France, with the title 
of Count. 



104 


THE COUNTESS HE GRAMMONT. 


favour of both, more particularly by that of the duchess, and was 
habitually in their most select circles, as well as in all the balls, 
masques, banquets, and public festivities of the court. 

It was at this time that De Grammont first met her; but it was 
long- after his marriage that he dictated to her brother Anthony 
that enchanting’ description of her which appears in his Memoirs. 
The lover-like feeling 1 which breathes throug'h the whole — the 
beauty, delicacy, and individuality of the portrait, show that De 
Grammont, with all his frivolity and inconsistency, still remem¬ 
bered with tenderness, after a union of twenty years, the charms 
which had first touched and fixed his volatile heart. 

She was then just arrived at that ag’e, when the budding 1 girl 
expands into the woman : her figure was tall, rather full, but 
elegantly formed : and to borrow Lord Herbert’s beautiful expres¬ 
sion, u varied itself into every grace that can belong 1 either to rest 
or motion.” She had the finest neck and the loveliest hand and 
arm in the world : her forehead was fair and open • her hair dark 
and luxuriant, always arranged with the most exquisite taste, but 
with an air of natural and picturesque simplicity, which meaner 
beauties in vain essayed to copy; her complexion, at a time when 
the use of paint was universal, owed nothing to art; her eyes were 
not large, but sparkling and full of expression; her mouth, though 
not a little haughtiness is implied in the curve of the under lip, 
was charming; and the contour of her face perfect. 

The soul which Heaven had lodged in this fair person was 
worthy of its shrine. In those days, the very golden age of folly 
and affectation, the Beauties, by prescriptive right, might be 
divided into two factions, whom I shall call the languishers and 
sparklers. The languishers were those who, being dull by nature, 
or at least not bright, affected an extreme softness—lounged and 
lolled—simpered and sighed—lisped or drawled out their words— 
half shut their eyes—and moved as if “ they were not born to 
carry their own weightthe sparklers were those who, upon the 


THE COUNTESS HE GRAMMONT. 


105 


m 


strength of bright eyes and some natural vivacity and imperti¬ 
nence, set up for female wits; in conversation they attempted to 
dazzle by such sallies as would now be scarcely tolerated from the 
most abandoned of their sex ; they were gay, airy, fluttering*, fan¬ 
tastical, and talkative ; they dealt in bon mots and repartees; 
they threw their glances right and left, a tort et a trovers ; and 
piqued themselves upon taking* hearts by a coup-de-main. Miss 
Hamilton belonged to neither of these classes: though lively by 
nature, she had felt, perhaps, the necessity of maintaining a 
reserve of mannei* which should keep presumptuous fops at a dis¬ 
tance. She wore her feminine dignity as an advanced guard,—her 
wit as a body of reserve. She did not speak much, but what she 
said was to the purpose,—just what the occasion demanded, and 
no more. Fibre a toute outronce whenever she was called upon 
to stand on the defensive, she was less possessed with the idea of 
her own merit than might have been supposed; and, far from 
thinking* her consequence increased by the number of her lovers, 
she was singularly fastidious with regard to the qualifications of 
those whom she admitted upon the list of aspirants. 

De Grammont had hitherto received few repulses; but u heureux 
sans etre aime” he began to be weary of pursuing* conquests so 
little worth. Miss Hamilton was something* new, something* 
different from any thing he had yet encountered in the form of 
woman. He soon perceived that the stratagems he had hitherto 
found all-prevailing*,—flattery and billets doux , French fans and 
gants de Martial* —would be entirely misplaced in his present 
pursuit: he laid aside his usual methods of proceeding,')' and, all 


* Martial • was a famous Parisian glove-maker of that time. “ Est-ce que 
Martial fait les epigrammes aussi bien que les gants?” asks Moliere’s Comtesse 
d’Escarbagnas, in allusion to his Latin namesake. The English translator of the 
Memoires de Grammont lias rendered Miss Hamilton’s “ deux ou trois paires de 
gants de Martial” into “two or three pair of military gloves,”—a blunder only 
equalled by the translation of “Love’s last Shift” into “La derniere chemise de 

1 5 „ 5 ) 

amour. 

t- They were rather singular.—“ lies qu’uue femme vous plait,” says St. Evre- 


106 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAM MONT. 


his powers of captivating* called forth by a real and deep attach¬ 
ment, he bent his whole soul to please; and he succeeded. 

Meantime he had many rivals, but not such as were calculated 
to give him much uneasiness. Among them, the first, in rank at 
least, was the Duke of York, M'ho became enamoured of Miss 
Hamilton’s picture, which he saw at Sir Peter Lely’s, and straight 
fell to offline: the fair oriffinal with all his miffht. The duke was 
extremely fond of hunting; and on his return from these 
expeditions, when he joined the circle in the duchess’s drawing¬ 
room, he stationed himself near Miss Hamilton, and while he 
amused her with the exploits of himself, and his horses, and 
his dogs, his eyes expressed what his tongue left unsaid. It would 
sometimes happen, indeed, that those tender interpreters of his 
flame would wink and close a au fort cle leur lorgnerie /’ for 
princes, like other men, are subject to fatigue as well as love. The 
duchess, secure in the principles and character of her young 
favourite, never treated her with so much countenance and friend¬ 
ship as at this time. Miss Hamilton herself affected not to 
perceive the duke’s passion; and when she was obliged to take 
notice of it, u elle prenait la peine de s’en divertir avec tout le 
respect du monde.” Nor was she more easily pleased on the score 
of honourable proposals. 


“ So much the more as she refused to love, 

So much the more she loved was and sought.” 


The Duke of Kichmond was a gambler and a sot; but he stood 
nearest in blood to the throne after the Duke of York, and M as 
considered the first match in the kingdom. Miss Hamilton thought 
othenvise. The duke, though much enamoured, demurred at 
making proposals, on the score of the lady’s fortune ; and she 

mond to him, “ votre premier soin est d’apprendre si elle est aimee d’im autre, 
et le second de la faire enrager,—car de vous en faire aimer n’est que le dernier 
de vos soins.” 


THE COUNTESS HE GRAM MO NT. 


107 

never forgave him. In vain the king interfered, and condescended 
to solicit her in his favour ; in vain he offered to portion her nobly, 
in consideration of the services of her father and his own relation¬ 
ship to the duke,—he was rejected unequivocally. She could 
resist the invincible Jermyn, undazzled by the glare of that all- 
conquering’ reputation which found Lady Castlemaine an easy prey, 
and which even the fair Jennings could not withstand. She 
refused the Earl of Arundel, (afterwards Duke of Norfolk,) who 
laid himself, his expectant dukedom, and his thirty thousand a-year, 
at her feet; and disdained to he the first peeress of England at 
the expense of marrying a fool. The elder Russel tendered to her 
acceptance his “ latter summer,” and his vast possessions; the 
young’er Russel, his nephew, did his best to supplant his uncle, 
with no better success ; and Berkeley, Earl of Falmouth,* the 
personal friend and favourite both of the King* and the Duke of 
York, whose rank, riches, and influence rendered him one of the 
greatest subjects in the kingdom ; a man of pleasure by profession, 
vain, bold, and quick of wit,—even lie confessed to St. Evremond, 
that “the possession of Miss Hamilton was alone wanting to 
crown all his desires; but that he had too much pride to owe her 
hand to the interference of her parents, and dared not hazard the 
refusal he anticipated from herself.” De Grammont was not dis¬ 
couraged by the number, rank, and pretensions of his competitors : 
he was, in truth, but a younger brother, a banished man, under 
the displeasure of his own sovereign, deprived of his commission, 
and with no other resource but the gaming-table to supply his 
expensive habits ; but he was handsome and brave, and possessed 
of unequalled powers of pleasing whenever he chose to exert them. 
He had the highest possible opinion of the understanding of his 
mistress, and his opinion of his own merit was not such as to 
induce him to despair. 

* Lord Clarendon says, tliat Berkeley was “ one upon whom the King had set 
liis affection so muck, that he had never denied any thing lie asked for himself or 
any body else.” He married the beautiful Miss Bagot, and was killed in the 
great sea-fight in 1(565. 


108 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


Meanwhile Miss Hamilton, though considerably occupied and 
interested by the assiduities of her captivating* lover, found time 
and thoughts to give to other matters. She was wary and proud 
from the circumstances in which she was placed; but she had all 
the light-heartedness of youth, and was more than once seized 
with the whim of mingling a little innocent mischief, by way of 
variety, with the mischief of another sort with which she was 
surrounded. A fit subject for her mirthful humour presented 
itself in her cousin, Lady Muskerry.* 

Lady Muskerry was not deficient in understanding, nor yet in 
good-nature; but she was to the last degree ridiculous and eccen¬ 
tric,—as mad as the Duchess of Newcastle, but after a less dignified 
fashion. She was excessively vain ; extravagantly fond of dress, 
without a particle of taste * and a more indefatigable and enthusi¬ 
astic dancer than her majesty the Queen, with even less capability 
of shining in that accomplishment; for she was deformed in her 
person, and Nature had shewn an undue partiality to one leg, by 
lengthening it at the expense of the other. It was the constant 
care of Lord Muskerry (a very good sort of man) to prevent his 
wife from rendering him supremely ridiculous by the exhibitions 
she was accustomed to make of herself before the whole court. 
But in vain * for the dancing mania was so strong upon her, that 
no restraint, short of durance under lock and key, could keep her 
in order. 

The Queen, who could only please her husband by flattering his 
taste for pleasure,f announced her intention of giving a masked 
ball, which was to exceed in magnificence all the entertainments 

* Margaret de Burgh, daughter of the Earl of Clanricarde, married to Lord 
Muskerry, eldest son of the Earl of Clancarty. Lady Muskerry was a great 
heiress, and, in spite of her deformity of person, was three times mai'ried. 

t “ La Reine avait de 1’esprit, et mettait tous ses soins a plaire an Roi par les 
complaisances qui coutaient le moins a sa tendresse. Elle etait attentive aux 
plaisirs et aux amusemens qu’elle pouvait fournir, surtout lorsqu’ elle devait en 
etre.” 


THE COUNTESS BE GRAMMONT. 


109 


which had been given since her marriage. The guests were to 
represent bands from different nations, and each ticket contained 
the name of a lady and gentleman, who were considered as partners 
for the night: the costume in which they were to appear was also 
indicated. The King, who had much good-nature, and was per¬ 
fectly an fait of all the intrigues which were going forward in his 
court, contrived that the guests should be paired as agreeably as 
possible to themselves, and assigned to the Chevalier de Grammont 
the delightful task of conducting Miss Hamilton. His majesty 
also left him the choice of the costume in which he would choose 
to appear. De Grammont, with the ready politeness of his nation, 
replied, “that as he had resided long enough in his majesty’s 
court to become almost an Englishman, and even to be mistaken 
for one, he should enroll himself in the French corps, and disguise 
himself a la Frangaise and he sent off his valet to Paris imme¬ 
diately, to order the most splendid dress that could be procured 
for this o-rand occasion. 

O 

Meantime, Lord Muskerry and his chere moitie were both in a 
fever of apprehension : he, lest his wife should be invited; and she, 
lest by any treasonable practices on his part she should be 
excluded. He took his measures so effectuallv, that she was 
passed over in the list of invitations, the Queen being well content 
to spare her fete the ridicule of such an exhibition. Lady Mus¬ 
kerry fretted with suspense and impatience; she was sure there 
was some mistake,—it was not possible that upon an occasion 
which gave her such an illustrious opportunity of shining in her 
favourite accomplishment, she should be excluded from court. She 
made Miss Hamilton the confidant of all her hopes and fears; and 
Miss Hamilton, possessed by the arch-spirit of mischief, deter¬ 
mined to amuse herself and her brothers at the expense of her 
ridiculous cousin. A ticket was prepared with excellent device, in 
imitation of her own, which invited Lady Muskerry to the court 
ball, and bore the Queen’s command that she should appear cn 
Babylonienne. A page, disguised in the royal livery, delivered 
this to Lady Muskerry, with an apology for the mistake which 


110 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


had caused so long a delay. But Lady Muskerry was in too 
great a rapture to listen to apologies ; thrice she kissed, upon her 
knees, the gracious billet which opened the door to paradise, and a 
treble gratuity was ordered to the fortunate page. 

She then sat down to consider the important affair of her dress. 
The subject was embarrassing, and the time was short. She had 
never been in Babylon in her life ; but others, she thought, might 
be better informed than herself: she therefore spent two days 
driving about to consult all her acquaintances upon the subject of 
her Babylonian attire,—among the rest Miss Hamilton. She 
took care, however, to keep her good fortune a profound secret 
from her husband ; anticipating a degree of opposition in that 
quarter which she had not courage to brave: like many of her sex, 
she could rebel, but dared not disobey. Various were the tastes 
and opinions of those she consulted ’ and Lady Muskerry, that 
she might be assured of being in the right, adopted the suggestions 
of all ] so that even Miss Hamilton herself could never have 
anticipated any thing- so marvellously absurd, or so extravagant, 
as the appearance her ladyship made en Babylonienne. 

The night at length arrived 3 but, to the amazement of the 
whole court, De Grammont, hitherto renowned for his magnificence 
and gallantry, was not only one of the last to make his appear¬ 
ance, but when he did lead up Miss Hamilton, it was observed 
that though he wore a wig so vast, so powdered, and so essenced, 
that it eclipsed even that of Sir George He wit*—the finest point- 
bands and ruffles, and the smallest hat that had ever appeared, yet 
his coat was merely an ordinary court-dress, rich indeed, but 
totally unbefitting the occasion. The count replied to the King’s 
raillery by relating, with his unequalled spirit and pleasantry, the 
history of his hapless costume a la Frangaise; which, according to 
his knavish valet, had been swallowed up in a quicksand near 
Calais. u But a-propos ! sire,” continued the count, when he had 


* The beau^w?- excellence , the original Sir Fopling Flutter of the day. 


THE COUNTESS HE GRAMMONT. 


Ill 


finished a story which threw the King and court into convulsions 
of laughter • u may I presume to ask your majesty who is that 
goblin en masque, whom I have encountered at the entrance ? She 
had nearly laid violent hands upon me as I entered, insisting that 
I must be the cavalier appointed to lead her in the dance ! May 
I perish, sire! if I do not think she has dropped from some planet, 
to lie in ambuscade at your palace gate and seize upon unwary 
cavaliers, for nothing beneath the moon was ever so monstrous or 
fantastic. She is enveloped in at least sixty yards of silver gauze, 
and carries a pyramid like that of Cheops on her head, (jarnie de 
cent mille brimborions” 

At this description the courtiers gazed at each other. The 
Queen looked round her wonder-struck, well assured that all whom 
she had invited were then present. “ Odds-fish !” exclaimed the 
King laughing, u I have it! It is some new extravaganza of that 
crack-brained Duchess of Newcastle !”—and, to the consternation 
of those in the secret, and the delight of those who were not, he 
commanded that her Grace should be instantly admitted. 

It was now Miss Hamilton’s turn to be alarmed, and to blush 
and tremble behind her fan ; for if Lady Muskerry had been intro¬ 
duced to the royal presence in her present grotesque garb, the jest 
would have gone much farther than she intended. Lord Muskerry, 
however, relieved her from her terrors. He had been standing in 
the circle while De Grammont was speaking, and whispered Miss 
Hamilton, u Now I, for my part, would lay a wager that it is 
another mad woman ; and that no other than my own fantastic fool 
of a wife !” He immediately offered himself to execute the royal 
commission, and found her accordingly, still seated in her carriage 
at the gate, in a paroxysm of despair, and raving against the 
faithless cavalier who had been appointed to attend upon her. He 
conducted her home by main force, locked her up in her chamber, 
and placed a sentinel at her door. Miss Hamilton this time 
escaped undiscovered. For some other of her malicious frolics, 
played off* at the expense of Miss Blague, u mix blondes paupibres,” 


11*2 


THE COUNTESS HE GRAMMONT. 


and that laughter-loving gipsy, Miss Price, who deserved the 
extremity of mischief, and the scene at Tunbridge Wells, in which 
poor Lady Muskerry was again made to play a principal part, the 
reader who has not read the Memoircs de Gvammont , (il such there 
be,) is referred to that work. The grace, the spirit, the arch 
humour, which give to these u airy nothings” all their charm and 
importance, must, of necessity, evaporate in the best attempt at a 
translation. 

While these festivities were going’ forward, the Chevalier de 
Grammont had every opportunity of paying the most assiduous 
court to his mistress; and the more difficult he found her of 
attainment, the stronger became his attachment. Even play, 
hitherto his ruling passion, could not detain him from Miss Ha¬ 
milton’s side ; and his friends began to think the affair grew serious, 
when Lady Castlemaine’s basset-table was forsaken for the Duchess 
of Ormond’s drawing-room. St. Evremond undertook to give him 
some pertinent advice on the subject, representing the utter impro¬ 
bability of his prevailing with Miss Hamilton, and the utter 
impossibility of his marrying if he could; and ended by enume¬ 
rating the suitors whom she had already refused, and whose 
pretensions were so far above those of an untitled, penniless, 
younger brother. u My good friend,” replied the gay Chevalier, 
u thou art a philosopher; tu connais la nature des etoiles du del; 
mats pour les astrcs de la terre , tu n’y connais rien. I have just 
had a lecture from the King, of three hours’ length, upon the 
same score. What do 3011 tell me of those Ostrogoths, my rivals ? 
Think you, if Miss Hamilton had deigned to listen to them, that 
I should have cared to obtain her? Eeoutez, mon ami! I will 
many Miss Hamilton in spite of them and the world; I will 
have my banishment reversed; she shall be Dame du Palais to 
the Queen of France; my brother will be pleased to die some day 
or other for our particular gratification. Miss Hamilton shall be 
mistress of Semeat* and Countess de Grammont, to make her 


* The chateau of the De Gframmont family. 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


113 


amends for the loss of that oaf Norfolk, that sot Richmond, and 
that rake Falmouth. And what have you to say to this, mon 
pauvre philosophe!” 

And so it proved; for Love in this instance was a better pro¬ 
phet than usual. De Grammont obtained the reward which his 
audacity and perseverance perhaps deserved, and carried off this 
parag-on from all his competitors; but it was no sooner secured, 
than he seems, with his usual volatility, to have neglected his con¬ 
quest. It has been said, with little probability, that one circum¬ 
stance attending- this marriag-e inspired Moliere with the first idea 
of Le Manage Force. Louis XIV. having- been prevailed on at 
length to recall De Grammont, after a banishment of six or seven 
years,* he was in such haste to return to France, that he left 
London without performing- his eng-ag-ements to Miss Hamilton. 
Her two brothers, Anthony and Georg-e Hamilton, pursued him 
to Dover, and overtaking- him at the inn, they exclaimed aloud, 
a Chevalier de Grammont, n’avez vous rien oublie a Londres ?” 
—“Pardonnez moi, messieurs,” replied this ardent lover, “j’ai 
oublie d’epouser votre soeur.” We may suppose that when his 
high-spirited mistress gave him her hand, she was unacquainted 
with this characteristic trait. 

The Count de Grammont left England finally in 10 G 9 , about a 
year after his marriage. Charles, in a letter to his sister, the 
unfortunate Duchess of Orleans, dated in October that year, 
recommends the Countess de Grammont to his sister’s friendship. 
a I writt to you,” he says, u yesterday by the Compte de Gram¬ 
mont ; but I beleeve this letter will come sooner to your handes, 
for he goes by Dieppe with his wife and family. And now that 
I have named her, I cannot chuse hut againe desire you to he 


* De Grammont, with his usual audacity and love of contradiction, had 
ventured to make himself particularly agreeable to a lady (Mademoiselle de 
Mothe-IIoudanconpt) whom his majesty as particularly admired: for this crime 
he was banished. 


I 


114 


THE COUNTESS BE GRAMMONT. 


kind to her; for besides the merritt her family has on both sides, 
she is as g*ood a creature as ever lived. I beleeve she will passe 
for a handsome woman in France, though she has not }-ett, since 
her lying-in, recovered that good shape she had before, and I am 
afraid never will.” 

It appears, from the slight manner in which Charles speaks of 
the Countess’s beauty, that her charms were partly lost upon his 
gross taste: nor is it surprising that the man whose soul and 
senses were enslaved by the vulgar and vicious Castlemaine, should 
be dead to the intellectual graces and refined loveliness of Miss 
Hamilton. 

The Countess de Grammont spent the rest of her life in the 
French court. Her beauty and elegance charmed the King, yet 
she did not universally please : Madame de Maintenon thought 
her u plus agreable qu’a finable,” perhaps because, though she could 
amuse with her lively wit, she could not stoop to flatter. When 
Madame de Caylus called her u Anglaise insupportable,” she pro¬ 
bably spoke in the character of a French woman, and a rival wit 
and beauty.* Madame de Grammont, soon after her arrival in 
France, was appointed a Dame du Palais” at Versailles; and, in 
a few years afterwards, De Grammont became, by the death of 
his elder brother, one of the richest and most powerful of the 
noblesse. 

It is pain to think that the man who had sufficient delicacy and 
discrimination to feel the accomplishments of such a woman as 
Miss Hamilton, and spirit enough to win and wear her, was so 
little worthy of his happiness. We look for something flu* beyond 
mere superficial talents and graces in him who was the husband of 
one so peerless. He was gay, gallant, polished in his address, 


* [Madame de Sevigne, in hex' letters to Madame de Guignan, speaks gene¬ 
rally of the Countess of Grammont as of a person by no means agreeable, some¬ 
what affected, and much inclined to give herself haughty ail's.— Ed.] 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMOXT. 


115 


and elegant in liis person; his wit ready, pointed, yet perfectly 
good-humoured: he told a story with inimitable grace—then, as 
now, a true Parisian accomplishment. He appears to have been 
a man of the most happy temperament, his vivacity and animal 
spirits inexhaustible, and his invulnerable self-complacency beyond 
the reach of a serious thought or a profound feeling’ of any kind. 
But these are only the garnish and u outward flourishes/’ which 
make a character, otherwise estimable, irresistible. Where was the 
high honour, the chivalrous feeling', the refined sentiments, the 
nobility of soul, the generous self-devotion, which should have 
distinguished the husband of Miss Hamilton? Frivolous, worth¬ 
less, heartless, inconstant, a selfish epicure, a gambler, a sharper, 
a most malicious enemy, a negligent friend, and a faithless lover : 
—such was De Grammont, such is the character which Bussy- 
Babutin,* and even his partial friend St. Evremond, have left of 
him, and which he was well content to support in the a Me moires” 
which Hamilton wrote from his dictation, and published in his 
lifetime.f Whether the lovely, noble-minded, and far-superior 

* “ Le Chevalier avait les yeux rians, le nez bien fait, la bouche belle, une 
petite fossette au menton, qui faisait un agreable effet sur son visage; je ne sais 
quoi de fin dans la physionomie, la taille assez belle s’il ne se fut point voute, 
l’esprit galant et delicat. II ecrivait le plus mal du monde.—Quoiqu’il soit 
superflu de dire qu’un rival soit incommode, le Chevalier 1’etait au point qu’il eut 
mieux valu pour une pauvre femme, en avoir quatre sur les bras que lui seul. II 
etait liberal jusques a la profusion ; et par la sa maitresse ni ses rivaux ne pouvait 
avoir de valets fideles. D’ailleurs le meilleur gargon du monde. Une chose qui 
faisait qu’il lui etait plus difficile de persuader qu’a un autre, etait qu’il ne parlait 
jamais serieusement, de sorte qu’il fallait qu’une femme se flattait beaucoup pour 
croire qu’il fut amoureux d’elle .”—Histoire Amoureuse des Gaules. 

t Before the Memoires du Comte de Grammont were published, they were of 
course submitted to the censorship. Fontenelle was then Censeur Royal; and 
he was so scandalized at the idea of a peer of France being represented as a 
common sharper, or, in polite phrase, “ one who used address to correct the errors 
of Fortune,” that he flatly refused his approbation. De Grammont, on hearing 
this, hastened to wait upon the scrupulous censor, and demanded, with his usual 
vivacity, what business he had to be more solicitous about a nobleman’s reputa¬ 
tion than he was himself ? and desired that he would do him the favour instantly 
to sign the licence, if the freedom with which his character was treated was the 

T ° 


110 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


woman, who had flung- away herself upon his unworthiness, after¬ 
wards discovered how false was the foundation on which she had 
built her happiness, we have no means of knowingif not, she 
was more effectually blinded by love than many of her sex who 
have committed the same irreparable mistake. 

They appear to have lived tog-ether on easy terms. Towards 
the latter part of her life, the Countess de Grammont became very 
devout, and was extremely scandalized by her husband’s epicurism 
and infidelity. De Grammont, who had never known an hour’s 
sickness, used to say he should never die. At last, however, in 
his seventy-fifth year, he fell dang*erously ill, and the King- (Louis 
XIV.) sent the Marquis Dang-eau to him, to remind him that it 
was time to think of God. De Grammont listened to him with 
polite attention, and turning- to his wife, said with a smile, u Com- 
tesse, si vous n’y prenez g-arde, Dang-eau vous escamotera raa 
conversion!” He recovered from this attack, and seemed more 
than ever convinced of his own immortality: hut paid at length 
the forfeit of humanity, dying* in 1707, at the ag-e of eig'hty-six. 
From a letter of St. Evremond to Ninon de l’Enclos, it appears 
that his wife had the satisfaction of converting- him at last, and 
that he died u tr&s devot.” 

The countess survived him but a short time: she left two 
daug-hters. Claude Charlotte, the eldest, inherited her mother’s 
beauty, and her father’s wit and vivacity. She married Henry 
Lord Stafford, and is the same Lady Stafford who was the friend 
and correspondent of Lady M. AY. Montag-ue. The young-est 
daug-hter died abbess of a convent in Lorraine. 


only objection to tbe work. Fontenelle, as it may be supposed, made no more 
difficulties. He might have replied to De Grammont, as the latter did to 
Madame de Herault. The Count had visited the lady to pay his compliments of 
condolence on the death of her husband: she received them with an air of 
extreme coldness ; upon which, suddenly changing his tone, he exclaimed gaily, 
—“ Le prenez-vous par la ?—Ma foi, je lie m’en soucie pas plus que vous!” 


THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


117 


The portrait annexed is from the picture by Sir Peter Lely, 
painted for the Duchess of York, and now at Windsor. We are 
told that, at the time, Lely was enchanted with his subject, and 
every one considered it as the dinest effort of his pencil, both as a 
painting' and a resemblance.* The dignified attitude and elegant 
turn of the head, are well befitting her who was u grande et 
gracieuse dans le moindre de ses movemens we have here u le 
petit nez delicat,” the fine contour of face, the lovely bust, the 
open expansive brow, and the lips, ripe, rich, and breathing sweets, 
at least to the imagination. A few pearls are negligently inter¬ 
woven among her luxuriant tresses, as if on purpose to recall 
Crashaw’s beautiful compliment to his mistress :— 

“ Tresses that wear 
Jewels but to declare 
How much themselves more precious are. 

Each ruby there, 

Or pearl, that dare appear, 

Be its own blush ,—be its own tear” 

The countenance has infinitely more spirit and intellect than Sir 
Peter Lely’s beauties in general exhibit ; and though, perhaps, a 
little too proud and elevated in its present expression, it must have 
been, when brightened into smiles, or softened with affection, 
exquisitely bewitching. The neck and throat are beautifully 
painted, the drapery is grand and well-disposed, and the back¬ 
ground has a rich and deep tone of colour, finely relieving the 
figure. 

There is a slight defect in the drawing of the right arm. Lely, 
did not, like Vandyke, paint his hands and arms from nature; they 
are in general all alike, pretty and delicate, but destitute of indi¬ 
vidual character, and often ill drawn. In the present instance 
this is the more to be regretted, because Miss Hamilton, among 
her other perfections, was celebrated for the matchless beauty of 
her hand and arm. 

* Chaque portrait parut un chef-d’oeuvre ; et celui de Mademoiselle Hamilton 
parut le plus acheve. Lely avoua qu’il y avait prit plaisir, &c. 


118 


TI1E COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT. 


EPlTRE HE ST. EVREMOND A M. LE CHEVALIER DE GRAMMONT 

A I'occasion de son amour pour Mademoiselle Hamilton. 

Il n’est qu’un Chevalier au morale! 

Et que eeux cle la table ronde, 

Que lcs plus fameux aux tournois, 

Aux avantures, aux exploits, 

Me pardonnent si jo les quitte 
Pour chanter un nouveau merite ; 

C’est celui qu’on vit a la cour, 

Jadis si galant sans amour, 

L meme qui sut a Bruxelles 
Comme ici plaire aux demoiselles ; 

Gagner tout l’ai’gent des maris, 

Et puis revenir a, Paris, 

Ayant couru toute la terre 
Dans le jeu, l’amour, et la guerre. 

Insolent en prosperity, 

Fort courtois en necessite, 

L’ ame en fortune liberale, 

Aux creanciers pas trop loyale : 

Qui n’a change, ni cbangcra, 

Et seul au mondc qu’on verra 
Soutenir la blanche vieillesse 
Comme il a passe la jeunesse ; 

Bare merveillc de nos jours ! 

N’etaient vos trop longues amours, 

N’etait la sincere tendresse 
Dont vous aimez votre princesse, 

N’etait qu’ ici les beaux desirs 
Vous font pousser de vrais soupirs, 

Et qu’ enlin vous quittez pour elle 
Yotre merite d’ infidelle— 

Cher et parfait oi’iginal! 

Yous n’auriez jamais eu d’egal. 

Il cst des beros pour la guerre, 

Mille grands liommes sur la terre, 

Mais au sens de Saint Evremond 
Bien qu’un Chevalier de Grammont; 

Et jamais ne sera de vie, 

Plus admire et moins suivie! 



















































THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY, 


“ Her person was a paradise, and her soul the cherub to guard it.” 

Dkydex. 


Emilie de Nassau, Countess of Ossory, was the eldest daughter 
of Louis de Nassau, Lord of Beverweert, of Odyke, and Auver- 
querque, in Holland, the acknowledged, but not legitimate, son of 
Maurice Prince of Orange. He was a man of tried virtue, talents, 
and courage, and the intimate friend of De Witt. 

Lady Ossory is interesting from her extreme beauty, her tender¬ 
ness, and her feminine virtues. But her alliance with the house 
of Ormond, which connected her at the same time with all the 
noblest families of England and Ireland,* and made her the daugh¬ 
ter, wife, and mother of heroes, has rendered her something more 
than merely interesting ; has shed around her person and memory 
that lustre which best becomes a woman,—the lustre reflected from 
the glory and the virtues of her husband. 


* And more immediately with those of Butler, Hamilton, Stewart, Beaufort, 
Chesterfield, Devonshire, Derby, Clancarty, and Clanricarde, &c. Lady Ossory’s 
marriage -was partly the means of raising others of her family to English alliances 
and English honours ; her youngest sister, Chai’lotte de Nassau, married the Earl 
of Arlington, and was mother to the first Duchess of Grafton; her youngest bro¬ 
ther, Henry de Nassau d’Auverquerque, was created Earl of Grantham. 




120 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


The father of the Earl of Ossory was James, the great Duke 
of Ormond j and never, upon conqueror or potentate, was that epi¬ 
thet more justly bestowed. He was, without exception, the most 
illustrious character of the times in which he lived; without re¬ 
proach as a man, a subject, a patriot, and a soldier. He had 
attached himself, from principle, to the cause of Charles the First j 
and through the whole of the civil wars had maintained his cause 

o 

with the most unshaken constancy, and the most generous self- 
devotion. After having expended his patrimony in the service of 
that monarch and his successor, and finding that all was lost, 
except honour, he refused the conditions offered by Cromwell, and, 
making his escape in a small boat, joined the fortunes of the exiled 
monarch j and was afterwards in his prosperity, as in his adversity, 
his ablest counsellor, and truest friend,—never his flatterer, or his 
favourite.* 

The Duchess of Ormond his wife, and the mother of Lord Ossory, 
was a woman of great beauty, and of an undaunted spirit. She 
was the heiress of the Earl of Desmond, and her union with the 
duke, then Lord Thurles, put an end to the feuds and lawsuits 
which had for years divided the houses of Desmond and Ormond, 
and threatened the ruin of both. Their marriage, however, was 
not only a marriage of policy, but of passion 5 their early attach¬ 
ment was attended by various difficulties and romantic distresses, 
and in particular by one circumstance, which throws so deep an 
interest round the character of the duchess, that I venture to 
relate it. 

She was a ward of the King* (Charles I.) who bestowed the 

* As the loyalty of Ormond was that of principle, the favour or displeasure of 
his capricious master never made the slightest alteration in his demeanour; so 
thdt his courteous equanimity sometimes abashed the King. The Duke of 
Buckingham on one occasion whispered, “ I wish your majesty would resolve me 
one question ; whether it he the Duke of Ormond who is out of favour with your 
majesty, or your majesty with the Duke of Ormond ? for you appear the most 
out of countenance of the two !” 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


m 


guardianship of her person and her vast estates on the Earl of 
Holland. While the lawsuit was pending* between her and Lord 
Thurles, she happened to meet her young* adversary at court, and 
struck with his noble qualities and fine person, fell in love with him; 
she was young*, inexperienced, and as self-willed as a conscious 
beauty and a great heiress may he supposed to have been 5 and 
took so little care to conceal the partiality she felt, that not only 
the object of her affection, hut the whole court, was aware of it. 
The King* sent to Lord Thurles, desiring* that he would desist from 
any pretensions to the hand of the young* lady, as his majesty 
designed her for another. To this the lover replied, with a spirit 
which justified the lady’s choice, that he should he sorry to displease 
his majesty, but that he considered he had even a better title than 
any other nobleman about the court to pay the Lady Elizabeth 
those attentions which were due to her beauty and merits, being* 
himself her cc poor cousin and kinsman.” The Lady Elizabeth, 011 
her part, was not slow to declare her abhorrence of the match 
proposed by the King, and her determination to marry Lord 
Thurles, and none other. The union was in all respects the most 
eligible for both * no other means could he found to put an end to 
their family dissensions, and Lady Elizabeth strongly felt, and as 
eloquently pleaded, that reason and interest were on the side of 
her girlish passion. But the King was resolute; her guardian, 
according* to the fashion of obdurate guardians from time imme- 
morial, placed the young lady in durance vile, and not only those 
consequences ensued which are de rigueur in such cases, but others 
which certainly were not anticipated by any of the parties con¬ 
cerned. 

The young lovers kept up a constant correspondence of letters 
and tokens, by means of Lady Isabella Bicli, the daughter of the 
Earl of Holland, who not being so strictly secluded as her father’s 
ward, contrived to meet Lord Thurles secretly. Lady Isabella 
was handsome, lively, good-natured, and attached to Lady Eliza¬ 
beth, with whom she had been educated ; but she was not of an 
age or a disposition to carry 011 this clandestine intercourse with 


12’2 THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 

safety to herself. In short—not to be too circumstantial — Lady 
Isabella found her friend’s lover only too agreeable; she fell a 
victim to passion and opportunity, but certainly not to any precon¬ 
certed villany on the part of Lord Thurles, who was then only 
nineteen ) the whole tenour of his life, before and after, belies such 
an imputation. The consequences were, that Lady Isabella 
became the mother of an infant, which was immediately sent 
abroad and carefully educated at Paris, without any knowledge of 
his parents. The secret was so faithfully kept, that not even a breath 
of suspicion rested upon Lady Isabella ; and soon afterwards, 
Lord Thurles, by bribing* the avarice of Lord Holland,* obtained 
his consent and his interest with the King*, and married Lady 
Elizabeth. 

Several years afterwards, when the Duke visited Paris, his first 
care was to inquire for this son, whom he found a blooming and 
hopeful youth, accomplished in all the exercises which became his 
age : the father could not deny himself the pleasure of sending the 
unhappy mother some tidings of her child ; but having occasion 
to write to his wife the same day, he made a fatal mistake in the 
direction of the two letters, and that which was intended for Lady 
Isabella fell into the hands of the Duchess of Ormond. 

The duchess passionately loved her husband; and notwithstand¬ 
ing* the lapse of years, she must have felt, on this occasion, as a 
woman would naturally feel on discovering that she had been 
betrayed in the tenderest point by her lover and her friend. She 
was still sitting with the letter open in her hand, lost in painful 
astonishment, when Lady Isabella was announced; an exchange 
of letters and a mutual explanation took place, and the scene 
which must have ensued may be imagined. Lady Isabella stand¬ 
ing before her injured friend, bowed down to the earth with 
u penetrative shame,” while that generous friend, unable to bear 
the sight of her humiliation, threw her arms round her neck, and 


* He bought the earl’s consent with 15,000/. 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


123 

with tears and a thousand fond caresses, endeavoured to reconcile 
her with herself, assured her of her perfect forgiveness, and pro¬ 
mised that the past should be to her as if it had never been. 

And she kept her word; for it is even said, and, if true, it is a 
rare instance of female discretion, that not even the duke ever sus-* 
pected his wife’s knowledge of this transaction. 

It happened, after the time of which we speak, that Lady 
Isabella and her family being obliged to fly from England, the 
Duchess of Ormond offered her an asylum in her house at Caen; 
and Lady Isabella, worthy in this instance of such a friend, 
accepted the offer as frankly as it was made. She resided for two 
years under the roof of the Duke and Duchess of Ormond, in all 
honour and confidence. The duchess never condescended to doubt 
either the truth and love of her husband, or the honour and grati¬ 
tude of her friend; her domestic peace was never disturbed by 
petty jealousy, nor her noble confidence wronged by those she had 
trusted. It is justice to Lady Isabella to add, that she preserved 
to the end of her life an unblemished reputation, and died unmar¬ 
ried A 

To return to the Earl of Ossory. When the Duke of Ormond 
withdrew to France, in 1055, he found himself obliged to leave his 
wife and family behind; and soon afterwards Cromwell caused 
the Earl of Ossory to be arrested, upon no specific charge, and 
committed to the Tower, j' His mother waited upon the Protector 

* Her son died young before tbe Restoration. These particulars, which were 
not known till after the death of the duke, may be found in Carte’s Life of 
Ormond, vol. iii. folio. 

t [The Earl of Ossory had, previously to this, been himself residing at the 
French court. It was there that the excellent and amiable Evelyn became 
acquainted with him, and their friendship continued until the Earl of Ossory’s 
death, when he took his last farewell of Evelyn as of the “oldest friend” he had. 
In his Diary, Jan. 13, 1649-50, Evelyn, at Paris, commemorates the “ exercises 
on horseback” of Ossory and his brother Richard ; and soon after he relates the 
following anecdote. “ May 7. I went with Sir Richard Browne’s lady and my 


124 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


to remonstrate, and to solicit his enlargement, pleading the quiet 
and inoffensive life which she led with her children in London. 
Cromwell told her plainly, that he had more reason to fear her 
than any body else. She replied with dignity and spirit, and in 
the presence of a numerous drawing-room, that u she desired no 
favour at his hands, but merely justice to her innocent son;” and 
that u she thought it strangle that she, who had never been con- 
cerned in a plot in her life, nor opened her mouth ag'ainst his 
person and government, should be represented as so terrible a 
person .”— u No, madam,” replied Cromwell, u that is not the case; 
but your worth has gained you so great an influence over all the 
commanders of our party, and we know so well your power 
over your own party, that it is in your ladyship’s breast to 

wife, together with the Earle of Chesterfield, Lord Ossorie, and his brother, to 
Yamber, a place neere the citty famous for butter ; when coining homewards, 
being on foote, a quarrel arose between Lord Ossorie and a man in a garden, who 
thrust Lord Ossorie from the gate with uncivil language ; on which our young 
gallant struck the fellow on the pate, and bid him aske pardon, which he did with 
much submission, and so we parted : but we were not gon far, before we heard a 
noise behind us, and saw people coming with gunns, swords, staves, and forks, 
and who followed flinging stones ; on which we turn’d and were forc’d to engage, 
and with our swords, stones, and the help of our servants, (one of whom had a 
pistol,) made our retreate for neare a quarter of a mile, when we took shelter in 
a house where we were besieg’d, and at length forc’d to submit to be prisoners. 
Lord Hatton, with some others, were taken prisoners in the flight, and his lord- 
ship was confin’d under three locks and as many doores in this rude fellow’s 
master’s house, who pretended to be steward to Mons r . St. Germain, one of the 
presidents of the Grand Chambre du Parliament, and a canon of Notre Dame. 
Severall of us were much hurt. One of our lacquies escaping to Paris, caused 
the bailiff of St. Germain to come with his guard and rescue us. Immediately 
afterwards came Mons r . St. Germain himselfe in greate wrath, on hearing that 
his housekeeper was assaulted ; but when he saw the king’s officers, the gentlemen 
and noblemen, with his majesty’s resident, and understood the occasion, he was 
ashamed of the accident, requesting the fellow’s pardon, and desiring the ladys to 
accept their submission and a supper at his house.” “I have often heard that 
gallant gentleman my Lord Ossorie affirme solemnly, that in all the conflicts he 
ever was in, at sea or on land, (in the most desperate of both which he had often 
been,) he believ’d he was never in so much danger as when these people rose 
against us. He us’d to call it the battaill de Vambre, and remember it with a 
greate deale of mirth as an adventure en cavalier .”— Ed.] 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


1*25 


act what you please.” She answered, u that she must needs con¬ 
strue this speech into a civil complimenthut a compliment and 
a shrug’ were all she could g-et from the politic Protector, till 
Ossory fell dangerously ill. She then solicited for him with such 
vehemence, that Cromwell at leng’th set. him at liberty; and the 
earl, attended by his brother, Lord Richard, disg’uised as his ser¬ 
vant, escaped to the Hag’ue. He was received there with hig’h 
honour by his father’s friends, and in particular by M. de Be- 
verweert, who entertained the Eng-lisli royalists with g-reat hospi¬ 
tality. In her father’s house, Lord Ossory had frequent and 
almost daily opportunities of seeing’ and conversing* with the 
Lady Emilie: the more he saw and knew of her the more he 
admired, and at leng’th loved, with all the enthusiasm of his 
character; and he assured his father that ec the happiness of his 
life depended on passing* it with her.” 

At this time the Earl of Ossory was about four-and-twenty ; 
lie was tall, well-made, and handsome, with an open expressive 
countenance, and tine teeth and hair; he rode, fenced, and danced 
remarkably well; played on the lute and guitar; spoke French 
eloquently, and Italian fluently ; was a good historian; and seems 
to have had a taste for liolit and eleo*ant literature; for Sir 
Robert Southwell represents him as so well read in poetry and 
romance, that u in a gallery full of pictures and hangings, he could 
tell the stories of all that were there described.” These, however, 
were the mere superficial graces which enabled him to please in a 
drawing-room; and to these he added all the rare and noble 
qualities which can distinguish a man in the cabinet and in the 
field. He was wise in council, quick and decided in action, as 
brave in battle as an Amadis of Gaul,—gallant u beyond the fiction 
of romance,” humane, courteous, affable, temperate, generous 
to profusion, and open almost to a fault. u In a word,” says the 
historian, u his virtue was unspotted in the centre of a luxurious 
court; his integrity unblemished amid all the vices of the times; 
his honour untainted through the course of his whole life ;” and it 
is most worthy of remark, that in those days, when the spirits of 


120 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


men were heated with party rage, when profligate pens were 
Y ielded by profligate and obscure individuals, and satire u unbated 
and envenomed,” was levelled at whatever was noble, or beautiful, 
or good in the land, not a single expression can any where be 
traced to contradict or invalidate this universal testimony. u No 
writer,” (I quote again from history,) u ever appeared, then or 
since, so regardless of truth and of his own character, as to venture 
one stroke of censure on that of the Earl of Ossory.” # 

Such a man might have pretended to the hand of any woman 
upon earth; and no woman—though she had been a throned and 
sceptred queen, in beauties, virtues, graces, friends, exceeding all 
account, and dowered with kingdoms, but would have been 
honoured in his choice. If, therefore, some difficulties attended his v 
marriage, it will easily be believed that they arose not on the pqrt 
of the lady of his love. 

The Duke of Ormond had commenced a treaty of marriage for 
his son with a daughter of Lord Southampton,']' which he broke 
off with regret, for her portion was double that of the Lady Emilie : 
and fortune was at this time an object in the Ormond family, 
reduced as they were by exile, confiscation, and losses of every kind. 
M. de Beverweert would give his daughter no more than £10,000 \ 
and he insisted on his future son-in-law being put into immediate 
possession of £1200 a-year; a large income in those days, but 
which would have been a mere trifle when the family were in 
power and prosperity. The Duchess of Ormond was put to great 
difficulties, the condition of her estate in Ireland scarce allowing* 
her to part with so large a portion of it, u but she could deny 

* Kippis’ Biog. Brit. vol. iii. p. 84 ; Collins; Carte’s Life of Ormond, yoL iii.; 
and Sir Robert Southwell’s Ireland. 

t Afterwards Lady Russel,—the Lady Russel, whose very name sanctifies 
the paper upon which it is written. It is, however, no imputation upon Lord 
Ossory’s taste that he preferred the lady he knew and loved to the lady he had 
never seen, and whose character had not yet been developed by those trials, out of 
which she arose an angel upon earth. 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


127 

nothing 1 to her beloved son.”* The duke, who looked upon this 
alliance as a means of strengthening- his interest with De Witt, 
gave his consent, and the marriage was celebrated at the Hague, 
November 17 , 1659 . The following* year the King’s restoration 
took place, and Ossory brought his young and beautiful bride in 
triumph to England. 

It does not appear that Lady Ossory was remarkable for her 
wit; hut she had excellent sense, an affectionate heart, and the 
sweetest temper in nature.| Her husband might have said of her, 
as Shakspeare so beautifully says of his mistress : 

“ Fair, kind, and true is all my argument; 

Kind is my love to-day, to-morrow kind, 

Still constant in a wondrous excellence. 

The power she obtained and preserved in her husband’s noble 
heart, is no slight argument of her superior understanding * in that 
age of universal gallantry, Lord Ossory dared to he faithful to his 
wife; and there lived not the man who would have dared to 
banter him upon the subject. The only fashionable folly he was 
known to indulge in, was gaming ; he sometimes played high,— 
an imprudence into which his habits, as a courtier, necessarily led 
him. After having lost deeply, he would return home, thoughtful 
and moody; and when his wife tenderly inquired the cause, and 
he would tell her that he was a vexed with himself for playing the 
fool, and gaming, and had lost, perhaps, a thousand pounds 
she would still desire him u not to be troubled, for she would find 
means to save it at home .”— u She was, indeed,” adds the grave 
historian of the family, a an admirable economist, always cheerful, 
and never known to be out of humour; so that they lived together 
in the most perfect harmony imaginable. Lord Ossory never found 
any place or company more agreeable than he found at home* and 
when he returned thither from court, they constantly met with 


* Verbatim from Carte, vol. iii. 
t Carte, vol. iii. 


f Sonnet 105. 


128 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


open arms, with kind embraces, and the most moving* expressions 
of mutual tenderness.”* 

But this picture, bright and beautiful as it is, had its shades. 
In this world of ours, u where but to think, is to be full of sorrow,” 
Lady Ossory was so far most happy, that though she suffered 
through those she loved, (as all must do who embark their happi¬ 
ness in their affections,) she never suffered by them : but she lost 
several of her numerous family at an early age, and the frequent 
absence of Lord Ossory, whilst engaged in the highest civil and 
military employments, must have doomed her to many widowed 
hours. The reckless valour, too, with which he exposed his life, 
and which was such as even to call down a rebuke from his brave 
father, must have filled the gentle bosom of his wife with a 
thousand fond anxieties : yet might not those partings and meet¬ 
ings, those alternations of hope and fear, those trembling terrors 
for his safety, those rapturous tears which greeted his return, 
have assisted to keep freshly alive, through a long series of years, 
all the romance of early passion ? And was not this much ? Did 
Lady Ossoiy buy too dearly the proud happiness of belonging to 
that man, upon whom the eyes of all Europe were fixed to gaze 
and to admire ? who from every new triumph brought her home a 
faith and love unchanged,—deposing his honours at her feet, and 
his cares in her gentle arms ? Let the woman who reads this 
question, answer it to her own heart. 

An idea may be formed of Lady Ossory’s life and feelings, by a 
rapid glance over her husband’s brilliant career. He was twice 
Lord-Deputy in Ireland; twice an ambassador: there was no 
considerable action fought by sea or land, during the reign of 
Charles II., in which he did not distinguish himself: he was at the 
same time a general in the army, and rear-admiral of the Bed; 
and in 1G73, he hoisted the Union flag as Commander-in-Chief of 
the whole fleet, in the absence of Prince Bupert. During the 

* Carte’s Life of Ormond, vol. iii. 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. i*29 

Dutch war, the principle and policy of which he entirely disap¬ 
proved,* he nevertheless served with heroic valour, if not with 
enthusiasm; and he would have destroyed the whole fleet of 
Holland, if the timidity of the King’s council had not defeated his 
scheme.'!' He was Commander-in-Chief in Ireland, a Knig*ht of 
the Garter, and a privy-counsellor, lord of the King’s bed-chamber, 
and lord-chamberlain to the Queen. He lived, when in London, 
with such munificent hospitality, that it must have required all 
Lady Ossory’s skill, as an economist, to manage their household. 
He was remarkable for seeking- out all the foreigners of any 
distinction or merit who visited England, and was fond of enter¬ 
taining* them at his table.J To this, perhaps, he partly owed 
his widely extended reputation on the Continent. When he was 
Envoy-Extraordinary in France, in 1667, Louis XIY. endeavoured 
to prevail upon him to enter into his service. He offered him 
personally, and through his ministers, the most magnificent 
appointments j and when these were refused, he was desired only 
to name what would content him for himself and his friends. 


* See his famous speech in defence of his father against Lord Shaftesbury. 
[Evelyn has this entry in his Diary, 12th March, 1G71-2 :—“ Now was the first 
blow given by us to the Dutch convoy of the Smyrna fleete, by Sir Robert Holmes 
and Lord Ossorie, in which we received little save blows, and a worthy reproch 
for attacking our neighbours ’ere any war was proclaim’d, and then pretending 
the occasion to be, that some time before, the Merlin yacht chanceing to saile 
thro’ the whole Dutch fleete, their admiral did not strike to that trifling vessel. 
Surely this was a quarrel slenderly grounded, and not becoming Christian neigh” 
hours. We are like to thrive accordingly. Lord Ossorie several times deplor’d 
to me his being engaged in it; he had more justice and honour than in the least 
to approve of it, tho’ he had ben over persuaded to the expedition.”— Ed.] 

t It is not now understood why this plan, which was allowed to be simple and 
feasible, though requiting great courage to execute, was not acceded to; when 
some of the council objected, Ossory told the King, “ that he would blow up the 
whole Dutch fleet with a farthing candle, or have his head set upon Westminster 
Hall beside Cromwell’s.” 

X Dryden describes the house of Ormond as one “ open as that of Publicola, 
where all were equally admitted, where nothing that was reasonable was denied, 
where misfortune was a powerful recommendation, and where want itself was a 
powerful mediator, and stood next to merit.” 


K 


130 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


Finding* all in vain, the King*, at his departure, loaded him with 
favours, and presented him with a jewel worth 2000/. 

It was not alone the dangers of battle that Lady Ossory had to 
fear for her husband; his chivalrous honour and the vehemence of 
his character sometimes perilled his life in more private encounters. 
His memorable quarrel with the Duke of Buckingham is well 
known. The duke had asserted in the House of Lords, that 
u whoever opposed the Bill then under discussion/’ (the Irish Cattle 
Bill), u had either an Irish interest, or an Irish understanding*.” 
Ossory called on the duke to retract his words, which he consi¬ 
dered as an insolent reflection on his country, or meet him with his 
sword in his hand to maintain them. The whole affair, in which 
Ossory behaved with so much frankness and gallantry, and in 
which the duke cut such a pitiful, or rather such an infamous 
figure, may he found at length in Clarendon. 

In 1071, occurred that extraordinary attempt on the life of the 
Duke of Ormond by the ruffian Blood, of notorious memory ; it is 
supposed at the instigation of Buckingham. There was, in fact, 
something so audacious and so theatrical in the idea of hanging 
the duke upon the gallows at Tyburn, that it could only have ori¬ 
ginated with that u fanfaron de crimes.” Such, at least, was the 
general opinion at the time. A few days after this event, Lord 
Ossory meeting the Duke of Buckingham in the King’s chamber, 
the colour flushed to his temples with passion, and his e}^es sparkled 
with such ire, that the duke took refuge behind the King’s chair. 
u My lord,” said Ossory, stepping up to him, u I know well that 
you are at the bottom of this late attempt of Blood’s upon my 
father; and therefore I give you fair warning, if my father comes 
to a violent end by sword or pistol,—if he dies by the hand of a 
ruffian, or the more secret way of poison, I shall not be at a loss 
to know the first author of it. I shall consider you as the assassin; 
I shall treat you as such, and I shall pistol you, though you stood 
beside the King’s chair; and I tell it you in his majesty’s presence, 
that you may be sure I shall keep my word.” So saying, he 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


131 


turned upon his heel, leaving’ the duke so completely overawed, 
that he had not even spirit to utter a denial.* 

But it is time to stop; the imagination lingers over the subject, 
unwilling to approach the catastrophe. To complete the glorious 
picture, such a spirit should have passed away from the earth, as 
unstained by grief as by fear—unembittered, unbroken to the last; 
and it was far otherwise. In 1G80, the earl, leaving Lady Ossory 
at the seat of her daughter, Lady Derby, came to London to prepare 
for his departure on a new expedition. He had been appointed 
governor of Tangier, but with forces so inadequate that he consi¬ 
dered himself cast away, u not only on a hazardous adventure, but an 
impossibility.” f u This/’ says Evelyn, iC touched my lord deeply, 
that he should be so little consider’d as to put him on a businesse in 
which he should probably not only lose his reputation, but be 
charged with all the miscarriages and ill-successe. My lord being* 
an exceeding brave and valiant person, and who had so approved 

* I believe no writer has remarked, the singular coincidence between tbe cha¬ 
racters and fortunes of tbe Duke of Ormond, and his ancestor, the Earl of 
Ormond, of Elizabeth’s time. Both were brave, popular, enthusiastically loyal, 
and inflexibly honest; both were accomplished courtiers, and lived to experience 
the ingratitude and injustice of the princes they had served; both experienced 
many changes of fortune, and lived to an extreme old age, so as to behold their 
heirs in the third generation ; both were opposed to the reigning favourites, for 
the enmity of the Duke of Ormond and Buckingham was at least equal to that 
of the Earl of Ormond and Lord Leicester. As Buckingham was believed to 
have instigated Blood in his attempt on the Duke of Ormond, so Leicester was 
known to have attempted the assassination of Ormond by means of a hired cut¬ 
throat, who was afterwards, like Blood, forgiven and rewarded. The following 
anecdote is very characteristic :—The Earl of Ormond coming one day to court, 
met Lord Leicester iu the ante-chamber. After the usual salutations, “ My 
lord,” said Leicester, insolently ; “ I dreamed of you last night!”—“Indeed,” 
replied Ormond, “ what could your lordship dream of me ?”—“ I dreamed that I 
gave you a box on the ear.”—“Dreams are interpreted by contraries,” replied 
the high-spirited Irishman, and instantly lent him a cuff on the ear, which made 
the favourite stagger. Eor this he was committed to the Tower by Elizabeth. 

t Lord Sunderland said in council, that “ Tangier must necessarily be lost; 
but that it was fit Lord Ossory should be sent, that they might give some account 
of it to the world.”— Evelyn's Memoirs. 


K 


o 


132 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


himself in clivers signal batailes, both at sea and land • so beloved 
and so esteem’d by the people, as one they depended upon in all 
occasions worthy of such a captain • he looked on this as too great 
an indifference in his majesty, after all his services and the merits 
of his father, the Duke of Ormond, and a desigme of some who 
envied his virtue. It certainly took so deep roote in his mind, 
that he who was the most voide of feare in the world, (and assur’d 
me he would go to Tangier with ten men, if his majesty com¬ 
manded him,) could not beare up against this unkindness.” 

The extreme heat of the weather, the fatigue he underwent in 
making his preparations, and the deep sense of the injury he had 
received, which seems to have struck upon his heart, threw him 
into a delirious fever: the last coherent words he spoke, were to 
name his wife, and recommend her and her children to his father’s 
care.* He died at the house of his brother-in-law, Lord Arling¬ 
ton, four days afterwards, in his forty-sixth year : leaving* behind 
him a character which poetry cannot embellish, nor flattery 
exaggerate. Even the muse of Dryden cowered when he 
approached the theme: after reading the life of Lord Ossory in 
plain and not very elegant prose, his poetical panegyric appears 
cold and strained.j' The reply of the Duke of Ormond to some 

* “ My son’s kindness to his wife, and his care of her, increases my value for 
him, and my sorrow for him, and I am glad he expressed it so frequently, when he 
thought of that sad hour which is come upon us ; hut there was no other need of 
it than the manifestation of his good-nature, for I am ready to do for her, what¬ 
ever she or her friends can wish.”—Letter of the Duke of Ormond to Lord 
Arlington. 

t Dryden was a practised hand at an elegy and a pauegyric, and in the present 
instance he was more in earnest than usual; but turn from his tuneful couplets 
to the simple entry which Evelyn has made in his Diary, of the “ death of his 
noble and illustrious friend, the Lord Ossorie .”—“ His majesty never lost a wor¬ 
thier subject, nor father a better or more dutiful son ; a loving, generous, good- 
natured, and perfectly obliging friend; one who had done innumerable kindnesses 
to several before they knew it, nor did he ever advance any that were not worthy : 
no one more brave, more modest; none more humble, sober, and every way vir¬ 
tuous. Unhappy England in this illusti’ious person’s loss! Universal was the 
mourning for him, and the eulogies on him : I staid night and day by his bed side 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


133 


impertinent comforter is well known, and is the most comprehensive 
and affecting* eulogy ever pronounced :— u I would not exchange 
my dead son for any living* son in Christendom !”* 

Lord Ossory died before his unhappy wife could even hear of his 
illness. She did not, upon her bereavement, break out into any 
tumultuous sorrow* she bowed her head to the stroke with apparent 
resignation, and never raised it again. She survived her husband 
little more than three years, and dying in January, 1084, was 
buried in Christ Church. 

The Countess of Ossory was the mother of twelve children, of 
whom, two sons and three daughters survived her. 

Her eldest son, James, succeeded his grandfather as Duke of 
Ormond, in 1688. He inherited the virtues, talents, and splendid 
fortunes of his princely race. He was twice Lord-Lieutenant of 
Ireland, which he governed with more affection from the people, 
and kept his court in greater splendour than ever was known in 
that kingdom. He was twice Captain-General and Commander-in 
Chief of the land forces of Great Britain, a knight of the Garter, 
and Lord-Constable of England at the coronation of William the 
Third. But in 1715, he was impeached in the House of Commons 
by a factious party; and in a moment of pique and disdain he 
refused to wait his trial, retired to France, and joined the party of 
the Pretender : he was of course attainted, his estate declared 
forfeit, and his honours extinguished. Having thus rashly decided, 
he did not, like his friend Bolingbroke, restore himself to favour 

to his last gasp, to close his deal’ eyes! O sad father, mother, wife, and children ! 
What shall I add ? he deserved all that a sincere friend, a brave soldier, a virtuous 
courtier, a loyal subject, an honest man, a bountiful master, and a good Christian 
could deserve of his prince and country.”— Evelyn's Memoirs, vol. i. p. 490. 

* In the private desk of the duke was found a Prayer upon the occasion of his 
son’s death, in which the old man implores that “ this dispensation might melt, 
not break his heart.” 


/ 


134 THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 

by betraying* the cause he had embraced : he died at Avignon 
(where he had for some time subsisted on a pension from the King* 
of Spain,) leaving* no issue. To this Duke of Ormond, Dryden 
has dedicated his Fables ,* and to his duchess (a daughter of the 
Duke of Beaufort,) is addressed the beautiful introduction to the 
Tale of Palamon and Arcite. 

Lady Ossory’s second son, Lord Charles Butler, was created 
Earl of Arran on the death of his uncle Bichard. He married a 
daug'hter of Lord Crewe, and dying* in 1758, the title became 
extinct: he was the last male representative of this branch of the 
family. 

Of the three daughters, the eldest, Lady Elizabeth, married 
William ninth Earl of Derby. Lady Emelia died unmarried, at 
the age of one hundred, having lived through six reigns; and 
Lady Henrietta was united to her cousin, Henry de Nassau, Earl 
of Grantham. 

The portrait, never before engraved, is after the picture by 
Wissing, in the Beauty-room at Windsor; the dress is a crimson 
boddice, not very becoming, with a veil shading the hair - the 
arms and hands are ill drawn, but the face is beautiful, the fea¬ 
tures small and delicate, with just that charming expression of 
modest}^ and innocence, which the fancy would love to ascribe to 
the wife of Ossory. 


[The following letter was written by the Duke of Ormond to 
the Countess of Clancarty, on Lord Ossory’s death. 

“Kilkenny, Aug. 11, 1680. 

u Since I may claim a part in your letter to my wife, 
having so great a share in the sad subject of it; and since she is 



THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


135 


not in composure enough to write herself, she desires you would 
receive from me her and my thanks for the consolation you intend 
us, and which really your pious reflections and advices do afford. 
I confess we have need of all the assistances of reason and religion 
to support us; for though there he nothing in this life more 
natural or more visible than the frailty of it, and that we know 
whoever comes into this world must, a little sooner or a little later, 
as certainly go out of it, and that a grave is as sure a receptacle 
as the womb; yet either too much value of ourselves, or rather 
too little regard to the God of life and death, makes us bear afflic¬ 
tions of this kind, when they come home to ourselves, with less 
submission and resignation than we ought. You have, like us, 
lost an eldest son, dear to you, and valuable in the world • and we 
were in the same degree of relation to yours, that you were to 
ours. That God that gave you strength and patience, and an 
holy acquiescence, continue his comforts to you, and confer them 
on us.” 

The Queen, on this truly melancholy occasion, wrote with her 
own hand the following letter to the duke. 

Indorsed, u Received 3rd September, 1080.” 

a My Lord Duke of Ormond, 

u I do not think any thing I can say will lessen your 
trouble for the death of my Lord Ossory, who is so great a loss to 
the King and the publicke, as well as to my own particular ser¬ 
vice, that I know not how to express it: but every day will teach 
me, by shewing me the want I shall find of so true a friend. But 
I must have so much pity upon you, as to say but little on so sad 
a subject; conjuring you to believe that I am, 

My Lord Duke of Ormond, 

Your very affectionate friend, 

Catiierina Regina.” 


130 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


The following’ brief character of Lady Ossory’s two sons, and of 
her son-in-law, are taken from Spring* Macky’s Memoirs, 1733, 
8 vo., p. 10. 

“ James, Duke of Ormond.— On Queen Anne’s accession to 
the throne, he had the command given him of the expedition to 
Cadiz ; which miscarried, not by his fault, as it appeared plainly 
in the examination of that affair in the House of Peers; and he 
had the g’ood luck in his return to burn the French fleet at Yigo, 
and to assist at the solemn Te Deum, sung- by the Queen at St. 
Paul’s for that expedition; when it appeared how much he was 
the darling’ of the people, who neglected their sovereign, and 
applauded him more, perhaps, than ever any subject was on any 
occasion. He was sent soon after Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, 
where he governed with more affection from the people, and his 
court was in greater splendour, than ever was known in that 
kingdom. 

“ He certainly was one of the most brave, generous, princely 
men that ever was, but good-natured to a fault; loved glory, and 
consequently was crowded with flatterers: never knew how to 
refuse any body, which was the reason why he obtained so little 
from King William, asking for every body. He had all the 
qualities of a great man, except that one of a statesman, hating 
business; loved, and was beloved by the ladies; of a low stature, 
but well shaped; a good mien and address ; a fair complexion, and 
very beautiful face.” 

Dean Swift, in his Manuscript Notes, observes of the foreo-oino-, 
that it is “ fairly enough writ.” 

“Lord Butler of Weston.—Is Earl of Arran in Ireland, 
and brother to the Duke of Ormond: he commanded a troop of 
Horse-Guards; was gentleman of the bed-chamber to King- 
William ; of very good sense, though he seldom shewed it; of a 
fair complexion, middle stature.” 


THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY. 


137 


Dean Swift observes on this paragraph : u This is right, but he 
is the most negligent of his own affairs.” 

“ Henry d’Auverquerque, Earl of Grantham.— He mar¬ 
ried the Duke of Ormond’s sister 3 he is a very pretty gentleman, 
and fair complexioned.” 

u A good for nothing,” saith Dean Swift.— Ed.] 


LADY DENHAM, 


“ For sweetest tilings turn sourest by their deeds— 

Lilies that fester, smell far worse than weeds!” 

SlIAKSPEAEE. 


This beautiful woman is interesting- from the poetical fame of 
her husband^ and her own tragical and mysterious fate ) but she 
presents; in all respects; a lamentable contrast to the gentle and 
blameless Lady Ossory. 

Lady Denham was the eldest of two sisters; daughters of Sir 
William Brooke; K.B.; and nieces of Digby; Earl of Bristol.* 
Both were beautiful and lively ; 01 *; as De Grammont expresses it; 
u Jaites pour donner de Vamour, et pour en prendre f and their 
profligate uncle; who was at this time intriguing against the 
influence of Lady Castlemaine; introduced them at court; in 
the hope that one or both would captivate the heart of the 
versatile Charles. How far these young girls; and both were 
then very young; lent themselves to this project; or were acquainted 
with his purposes; is not clear; but Lady Castlemaine interfered 
in good time to prevent the accomplishment of the earl’s hopes j 
and the King; who had just purchased a peace at the usual hard 
price; was not inclined to endanger it for the sake of Miss Brooke. 
She next attracted the notice of the Duke of York ; but in the 
midst of this flirtation; she was married by the interposition of her 

* Frances Brooke, the younger sister of Lady Denham, married Sir Thomas 
Whitmore, K.B., ancestor of the Whitmores of Shropshire. 

































LADY DENHAM. 


139 


friends, at the age of eighteen, to Sir John Denham,* then a 
widower, and old enough to be her father, or her grandfather; 
and who seemed determined to avenge, in his own person, all the 
satirical tirades and the poignant ridicule with which he had 
formerly visited faithless wives and betrayed husbands. Denham 
had led a dissipated life, and his age was neither pleasing nor 
respectable: although hardly more than fifty, he is described, at 
the period of his marriage, as a ancient and limping,and was ill 
calculated either to captivate or to rule a young and wilful beauty. 
This disproportioned union covered him with ridicule : his beautiful 
wife became at once the object of open assiduities, and himself 
almost frantic with jealousy. The Duke of York, who had rather 
neglected Miss Brooke before her marriage, renewed his attentions. 
The lady was not disposed to he absolutely cruel, but she was in 
disposition haughty, and inclined to coquetry j she gave herself 
airs accordingly, and the duke, who was the most stupid and 
ungainly of lovers, contrived to render himself on the present 
occasion, supereminently ridiculous: Pepys describes him as 
following her up and down the presence-chamber, u like a dog.” 
It is consistent with the character of James and his family, his- 
torically branded with the reproach of systematic ingratitude, that 
no remorseful or generous feeling seems to have restrained him in 
this pursuit, although he was under particular personal obligations 
to Denham, which nothing could cancel: during the civil wars, 
when the prince was a mere boy, and in imminent danger of his 
liberty or his life, Denham had conveyed him out of England at 

# Sir Jolm Denham was horn in Dublin, (where his father held the high office 
of Chief Baron of the Exchequer in Ireland,) in 1615. He attached himself 
devotedly to the royal cause, and was on the restoration knighted, and appointed 
Surveyor of the Buildings to the King,—Sir Christopher Wren as his deputy. 
This was the more necessary, as, according to Evelyn, Sir John was a better poet 
than an architect. A great part of the family estates, situated at Egham and its 
neighbourhood, were wasted by Denham at the gaming-table ; the rest were con¬ 
fiscated during the civil wars. His reputation as a poet rests upon his “ Cooper's 
Hill.” Sir John left three children by his first wife, who was a Miss Cotton. 

t Aubrey’s Letters. De Grammont says he was seventy-nine when he married 
Miss Brooke; he probably looked much older than he really was. 


140 


LADY DENHAM. 


his own personal risk,, and placed him in the hands of the Queen at 
Paris. As for Lady Denham, she had declared, with an effrontery 
worthy of the education she had received in the house of her uncle, 
that she would not be a u mistress to go up and down the privy 
stairs, hut would be owned publicly f and the duke accordingly 
visited her publicly and in state, attended by all the gentlemen of 
his household. 

This, however, was not enough to satisfy our perverse and 
arrogant beauty. Brounker, whose name is handed down to us 
as the most famous chess-player of his time, filled in the household 
of the duke the same honourable office which Tom Chiffinch held in 
that of the King 1 , his brother; and he made himself extremely useful 
in this negociation. Lady Castlemaine, who had lost the power of 
blushing* for any thing*, did not blush to be his coadjutor. Thus 
surrounded by tempters, and the worst of tempters, those of her 
own sex, Lady Denham was determined, that since the fates had 
decreed her fall, it should at least be surrounded with all possible 
eclat. 

The place of lady of the bedchamber to the Duchess of York 
being* vacant, Lady Denham demanded it of the duke : the duke 
had the assurance to insist that it should be given to her. The 
duchess, though in general submissive to his will, and accustomed 
to his infidelities, resisted on this occasion, well knowing that the 
high spirit and uncommon talents of Lady Denham exposed her to 
the chance of playing a very secondary personage in her own court: 
she had the example of Queen Catherine before her as a warning * 
and the duke had that of his brother as an encouragement, and he 
was equally peremptory. Every where Sir J ohn Denham was 
beset by malicious congratulations on his wife’s elevation, so that 
he would have hung himself in despite and despair, but that he 
had too much wit and too little courage. 

The matter was still in discussion, when Lady Denham was 
seized with sudden indisposition, of which, after languishing some 


LADY DENHAM. 


141 


days, she expired, January 7th, 1GG7, in the full bloom of her 
youth and beauty, and before she had completed her twenty-first 
year. It was believed at the time that she had been poisoned in a 
cup of chocolate,* and her death was so sudden, it took place so 
critically, and was accompanied by such agonizing 1 symptoms, that 
there was some ground for the belief: Lady Denham herself ceased 
not to aver, with tears, that she had been poisoned. Her husband 
was so strongly suspected, that for some days afterwards his house 
in Scotland-Yard was surrounded by an enraged populace, who 
threatened to stone him on his appearance. Others did not scruple 
to accuse the Duchess of York of being privy to this horrible affair, 
and an infamous libel to that effect was posted on her door • but 
there is not the slightest ground for believing in the accusation. 
Sir John Denham is not so easily acquitted: it is remarkable that 
he became insane immediately after his wife’s death, and continued 
so for several months.']' This insanity, might, however, have been 

* Aubrey, who lived at the time, asserts the fact without any circumlocution. 
Pepys says that the universal belief was, that Lady Denham was poisoned, and 
that the physicians would assemble the day after her death, to examine into the 
symptoms and causes of her decease ; which examination never took place. 

[We think that the very entries of Pepys are sufficient to shew the improbability 
of her death by poison. On the 10th November, 1666, “ I hear that my Lady 
Denham is exceedingly sick, even to death, and that she says, and every body else 
discourses, that she is poisoned ; and Creed tells me, that it is said that there hath 
been a design to poison the King.” On the 12th, “ Creed tells me of my Lady Den¬ 
ham, whom every body says is poisoned, and she hath said it to the Duke of York ; 
but is upon the mending hand, though the town says she is dead this morning.” The 
poisoning story is here connected with a rumoured attempt on the King, and it is 
evident, as was then the case on every such rumour, the town was full of different 
reports about it. We hear nothing more of her in Pepys till the second of the 
following January, when she died, so that her death was by no means “ sudden,” 
or her illness very short: “ Lord Brouncker tells me that my Lady Denham is at 
last dead. Some suspect her poisoned, but it will be best known when her body 
is opened to-day, she dying yesterday morning.” It may also be remarked that, 
in Pepys, in the space of less than two months, ‘ every body’s discourses’ are 
reduced to the suspicion of some.— Ed.] 

t In justice to Denham it should be observed, that Butler, in his bitter and 
outrageous satire, entitled “ Yerses on the Recovery of Sir John Denham from 
his late Madness,” makes no allusion to the death of Lady Denham. 


142 


LADY DENHAM. 


caused by terror, or by indignation and grief, and not by remorse, 
as it was insinuated. The matter was at the time bushed up with 
all convenient speed, and the horrible fate by which this unhappy 
woman expiated her errors remains a mystery. 

Sir John Denham died in 1008, about a year after his wife ; 
he had completely recovered from his insanity some months before 
his death • and, in the interval, wrote his poem on the death of 
Cowley. 

Except the portraits of Miss Hamilton and Lady Bellas} r s, 
there is not one among the Beauties at Windsor that can be com¬ 
pared to this picture of Lady Denham, either for delicacy of 
execution, or splendour of colouring. She is represented seated on 
a bank, with flowers in her lap, dressed in rich amber-coloured 
satin: the neck, bosom, hands, and arms, are beautiful ; the face is 
not generally considered as attractive, yet the features, which are 
too large and striking for a delicate beauty, have a singular 
expression which rivets the attention, —blending- capacity, pride, 
and the capability of strong passions. Her complexion is fair, but 
glowing and fresh like a full-blown flower: her hair of a lovely 
brown. The whole disposition of the picture, and the magnificent 
colouring of the drapery and the background, have never been 
surpassed by Lely, even in his most celebrated works. It is now 

eno-raved for the first time. 

© 


[The curious sketch of the Life of Sir John Denham, given by 
the antiquarian Aubrey in his entertaining Letters and Lives of 
Eminent Persons, seems to us by no means an improper supplement 
to the life of his lady. Aubrey was a great collector of gossiping 
stories, which, from their nature, are not absolutely to be depended 
upon. 

u I have heard Mr. James Howe say, that he was the dream- 
ingest young fellow; he never expected such things from him as 



LADY DENHAM. 


143 


lie hath left the world. When he was there, he would game 
extremely j when he had played away all his money, he would 
play away his father’s cappes wrought with gold. His father was 
Sir John Denham, one of the Barons of the Exchequer* he had 
been one of the Lords Justices in Ireland , he married Ellenor,* 
one of the daughters of Sir Garret Moore, knight, Lord Baron of 
Mellifont, in y e kingdome of Ireland, whom he married during his 
service in Ireland, in y e place of Chief Justice there. 

u Sir John was not supposed to be a witt. At last, viz. 1040, 
his play of u The Sophy” came out, which did take extremely. 
Mr. Edmund Waller sayd then of him, that he broke out like the 
Irish Rebellion,—threescore thousand strong, when nobody sus¬ 
pected it. He was much rooked by gamesters, and fell acquainted 
with that unsanctified crew to his mine. His father had some 
suspicion of it, and chid him severely; whereupon his son John 
(only child) wrot a little Essay in 8vo, pointed against gaming , 
and to shew the vanities and inconveniences of it, which he pre¬ 
sented to his father, to let him know his detestation of it: hut 
shortly after his father’s death (1638,) (who left 2000 or 1500 lib. 
in ready money, two houses well furnished, and much plate,) the 
money was played away first, and next the plate was sold. I 

remember, about 1646, he lost 200 lib. one night at Newcutt, 

* * * # * 

u I 11 1646-7 he conveyed or stole away the two Dukes of Yorke 
and Glocester from St. James’s (from the tuition of the Earle of 
Northumberland,) and conveyed them into France to the Prince of 
Wales and Queen-mother. It was at Wilton, the seat of the Earl 

of Pembroke, in 1652, that he translated the-book of Virgil’s 

TEneiSy and also burlesqu’t it.f He married for his first wife the 

* She was a beautiful woman, as appears by her monument. Sir John, they 
say, did much resemble his father. 

t “ He burlesqued Virgil, and burnt it, saying, that ’twas not fitt that the 
first poet should be so abused.” Prom Mr. Chr. 'Ware, tutor to William Lord 
Herbert. 


144 


LADY DENHAM. 


daughter and lieire of-Cotton, of Glocestershire, by whom he 

had 500 lib. per annum, one son and two daughters. 

“ He was much beloved by King Charles the First, who much 
valued him for his integrity. He granted him the reversion of 
the Surveyor of his Building’s, after the decease of Mr. Inig*o 
Jones ; which place after the restoration of King Charles II., he 
enjoyed to his death, and g’ott seaven thousand pounds as Sir 
Christopher Wren told me of, to his owne knowledge. Sir Chris¬ 
topher Wren was his deputy. 

“ An. Dom. 106- he married his second wife, — Brooke, a very 
beautiful young lady ; Sir John was ancient and limping. 

“The Duke of Yorke fell deeply in love with her. This occa¬ 
sioned Sir John’s distemper of madnesse in 166-, which first 
appeared when he went from London to see the famous free-stone 
quarries at Portland, in Dorset. When he came within a mile of 
it, turned back to London againe, and would not see it. He went 
to Hounslowe, and demanded rents of lands he had sold many 
yeares before $ went to the King, and told him he was the Holy 
Ghost \ but it pleased God that he was cured of this distemper, and 
wrott excellent verses, particularly on the death of Abraham Cow¬ 
ley, afterwards. His second lady had no child, and was poysoned 
by the hands of the Co. of Roc. with chocolatte. At the corona¬ 
tion of King Charles II. he was made knight of the Bath. 

“He died in 1GG8-9, March the 23rd; was buried in West¬ 
minster Abbey, near S r Jeffrey Chaucer’s monument. 

“ He delighted much in bowles, and did bowle very well. He 
was of the tallest, but a little uncurvetting at his shoulders, not 
-very robust. His haire was but thin and flaxen, with a moist 
curie. His gate was slow, and was rather a stalking, (he had long 
legges.) His eie was a kind of light goose gray, not big; but it 
had a strange piercingness, not as to shining and glory, but (like 



LADY DENHAM. 


145 


a Momus) when he conversed with you, he look’t into your very 
thoughts. 

u In the time of the civill war res, Geo. Withers, the poet, begged 
S r * Jo. Denham’s estate of the Parliament, in whose cause he was 
a captaine of horse. It (happened) that G. W. was taken 
prisoner, and was in danger of his life, having* written severely 
against the King. S r * John Denham went to the King, and de¬ 
sired his ma tie not to hang him; for that whitest G. W. lived, he 
should not be the worst poet in England. Sir John was satyricall 
when he had a mind to it.”— Ed.] 


l 


NELL GWYNN. 


“ How sweet and lovely dost tliou make the shame 
Which, like the canker in a fragrant rose, 

Doth spot the beauty of tliy budding name ! 

Oh, in what sweets dost thou thy sins enclose 
That tongue that tells the story of thy days, 

Making licentious comments on thy sport, 

Cannot dispraise but in a kind of praise: 

Naming thy name, blesses an ill report. 

Oh, what a mansion have those vices got 
Which for their habitation chose out thee ! 

Where Beauty’s veil doth cover every blot, 

And all things turn to fair that eyes can see!” 

Suakspeaee. Sonnet 95. 


Nell Gawynn,— pretty, witty ; merry, open-hearted Nelly,—lias 
much more than her own frailties to answer for ; and they (alas, 
that we must needs say it!) are enough, in all conscience. Her 
very virtues have proved mischievous, inasmuch as they have 
given occasion to certain scoffers to blaspheme u the sun-clad 
power of chastity.” Wicked arguers against that law of society 
which comprises all female virtues in one, have set up the name 
of Nell Gwynn as a rallying point; and under that name, with 
all its gay associations of Avreathed smiles, arch sayings, SAveet 
looks, kind feelings, and benevolent deeds, they fight their battles, 
AA’ithout considering that she, and one or two others, are hut 





J 







































NELL GWYNN. 


147 


exceptions to a general rule, harsh in particular applications, but 
on the whole, just and friendly to our sex. 

It is, at least in one sense, rather a delicate point to touch on 
the Life of Nell Gwynn : one would fain he properly shocked, 
decorously gTave, and becomingly moral; hut, as the lady says 
in Comus , a to what end V* It were rather superfluous to set 
about proving that Nell Gwynn was, in her day, a good-for- 
nothing sort of person ; in short, as wild a piece of frailty, as ever 
wore a petticoat. In spite of such demonstrations, and Bishop 
Burnet’s objurgations to hoot, she will not the less continue to he 
the idol of popular tradition, her very name provocative of a smile, 
and of power to disarm the austerity of virtue, and discountenance 
the gravity of wisdom. It is worth while to inquire in what con¬ 
sists that strange fascination, which, after the lapse of a century 
and a half, still hangs round the memory of this singular woman. 
Why is her name still familiar and dear in the mouths of the 
people ? # why hath no man condemned her ? why has satire 
spared her? why is there in her remembrance a charm so far 
beyond, and so different from mere celebrity ? Other women have 
become famous and interesting in spite of their lapses from virtue, 
and some from that cause. Bosamond Clifford is the heroine of 
romance ; Agnes Sorel, of history and chivalry ; Jane Shore, of 
tragedy; La Yalliere, of sentiment and poetry; and Gabrielle 
d’Estrees has been immortalized by the love of a hero, to whom 
she was most faithless, and of whom she was most unworthy. 
But Nell Gwynn—Heaven knows—had little to do with romance, 
or tragedy,! or chivalry, or sentiment: and her connexion with 
the King, with all the scandal it gave rise to, would have made 
her, as in other cases, a mark for popular hatred and scurrility, 

* The head of Nell Gwynn was a popular sign in her own days, and long 
after; and is still to be seen over an old ale-house in Chelsea. Signs are seldom 
other than acknowledgments of a general good-will in the public for the thing or 
person signified.—C. L. 

t Except on the stage,—and then she was “ out of her calling.” 

L 2 


148 


NELL GWYNN. 


but for those redeeming qualities which "turned dispraise to 
praise/’ and made 

* 

“ Both faults and graces loved of more and less.” 

A sprinkling of hypocrisy, or a few cooling drops of discretion, 
had rendered Nell Gwynn either far better or far worse, and 
placed her on a par with the women around her; as it was, she 
resembled nothing but herself. She may, perhaps, be compared, 
in some few points, with her fair and famed contemporary, Ninon 
de l’Enclos. Both had talents, wit, vivacity, and much goodness 
of heart; both were distinguished for the sincerity and permanency 
of their friendships, their extensive charity and munificence to 
literary men : what Ninon was to Bacine and Moliere, Nell was 
to Dryden and Lee. But there is this difference,—that Ninon, 
with all her advantages of birth, talents, independent fortune, and 
an education, not only soigne , but learned, became from choice, or 
perverted principle, what Nell, poor, uneducated, and unprotected, 
became from necessity or accident. 

A woman, when she has once stepped astray, seldom pauses in 
her downward career till u guilt grows fate, that was but choice 
before,” and far more seldom rises out of that debasement of person 
and mind, except by some violent transition of feeling, some 
revulsion of passion leading to the opposite extreme. In the case 
of Nell Gwynn the contrary was remarkable. As years passed 
on, as habit grew, and temptation and opportunity increased, her 
conduct became more circumspect, and her character more elevated. 
The course of her life, which had begun in the puddle and sink of 
obscurity and profligacy, as it flowed, refined. For the humorous 
and scandalous stories of which she is the subject, some excuse 
may be found in her plebeian education, and the coarseness of the 
age in which she lived : when ladies of quality gambled and swore, 
what could be expected from the orange-girl ? But though her 
language and manners bore to the last, the taint of the tavern and 
the stage, hers was one of those fine natures which could not be 


NELL GWYNN. 


149 


corrupted * the contaminating' influence of the atmosphere around 
her had stained the surface, but never reached the core. 

These observations, which irresistibly suggested themselves, may 
seem misplaced, and should rather have followed than preceded 
her life : but it is the character of Nell Gwynn which lends an 
interest to her memoirs, though the reverse be more commonly the 
case. The events of her life may be related in a few words. It 
was marked by no romantic incidents, no signal reverses of fortune, 
no tragic expiation of error. It is quite impossible to make a 
heroine of her, in prose or in verse. 

The family of Nell Gwynn was of Welsh extraction, as may be 
inferred from the name : her parents were natives of Hereford, of 
which city one of her noble descendants was afterwards bishop,* 
and where, according to a local tradition, she was herself born. 
Other authorities state that she first saw the light in a garret in 
Coal-yard, Drury-lane. However this may be, it is certain that 
her earliest years were spent in London, and in the very lowest 
haunts of vulgar profligacy. While yet a mere child, she was an 
attendant in a tavern, where the sweetness of her voice and her 
sprightly address recommended her to notice. She was after¬ 
wards, still in extreme youth, a servant to a fruiterer, and in this 
capacity employed to sell oranges at the theatres. Here her 
beauty and vivacity attracted the notice of Lacy the comedian, 
her first lover, who was soon rivalled in her good graces by Hart, 
the handsomest man and most accomplished actor of that day.f 

* Lord James Bcauclerk died Bishop of Hereford, in 1782. 

f Charles Hart was the great-nephew of Shakspeare, his father William being 
the eldest son of the poet’s sister Joan. Contemporary authors are full of 
eulogiums of this great actor, and allusions to his various excellencies.—See 
Hryden, Cibber, the Spectator, Fuller, and the Roscius Anglic anus. 

Bymer says, “ What Mr. Hart delivers, every one takes upon content; their 
eyes are prepossessed and charmed by his action, before aught ol the poet s can 
approach their ears ; and to the most wretched of characters lie gives a lustre 
and brilliance which so dazzles the sight, that the deformities in the poetry can¬ 
not be perceived .”—Tragedies of the Last Age Considered. 


NELL GWYNN. 


150 

Under the successive tuition of these two admirers, both of 
whom were masters of their art, Nell Gwynn was prepared for the 
stage, for which she had a natural penchant ; and, in 1007, we 
find her enrolled in the King’s company of comedians, who were 
then acting' under Killigrew’s patent, at the new theatre in Drury- 
lane.* Before the Restoration, no woman had appeared on the 
English stag*e, the female parts being all acted by men.')' The 
novelty and attraction of seeing beautiful women in such characters 
as Desdemona, Ophelia, Aspasia, &c., was undoubtedly one cause 
of that mania for theatrical amusements, which was one of the 
characteristics of the time. Nell Gwynn at once became popular 
in her new vocation. She was so great a favourite, that the 
public endured and even applauded her in characters for which 
her talents were altogether unfitted$ as Valeria in the Royal 

* There are the following entries in Pepys’ Diary, under the year 1G67, rela¬ 
tive to Nell Gwynn :— 

“ To the King’s house; Knipp took us all in, and brought to us Nelly, a most 
pretty woman, who acted the great part of Coelia to-day, very fine, and did it 
pretty well: I kissed her, and so did my wife ; and a mighty pretty soul she is.” 
—Yol. ii. p. 8. 

“ To the King’s house ; and there going in, met with Knipp, and she took us 
up into the tiring-rooms; and to the woman’s shift, where Nell was dressing her¬ 
self, and was all unready, and is very pretty, prettier than I thought. But, 
Lord! to see how they are both painted, would make a man mad.”—Y ol. ii. 
p. 135. 

“ With my wife to the King’s playhouse ; and there saw The Surprizall; which, 
did not please me to-day, the actors not pleasing me ; especially Nell’s acting of 
a serious part, which she spoils.”—Yol. ii. p. 171. 

t The name of the first female actress is a disputed point: it is only certain 
that the first part played by a woman was Desdemona; the apologetic prologue 
delivered upon the occasion may be found in Malone’s History of the English 
Stage. Before this time, it once happened that Charles II. being in the theatre, 
and expressing some impatience because the play did not immediately begin, Sir 
William Davenant came forward, and apologized in these words :—“ Please your 
majesty, they are shaving the queen.” This oft-told jest does not seem to have 
been well understood by those who have repeated it. It had a double allusion, 
which made it doubly piquant; for it was just at the time that] Queen Catherine’s 
larber had arrived from Portugal, whose office caused much wonder and amuse¬ 
ment among the courtiers. 


NELL GWYNN. 


151 


Martyr , Alicia in the Black Prince , and Cidaria in the Indian 
Emperor , which her admirer Pepys allows that she played a most 
basely she also appeared as Queen Elizabeth in the Earl of 
Essex. Nell Gwynn in Queen Elizabeth must have been rare,— 
something* like Polonius u enacting* Julius Caesar in the Capitol.” 
Put; on the other hand, she excelled in comedy, and in all parts 
in which dancing* and singing* were requisite. The character of 
Florimel in the Maiden Queen appears to have been her chef- 
d’ceuvre in this style. Her easy gracefulness of address, arch 
expression, and musical voice, rendered her unrivalled as a speaker 
of prolog*ues and epilogues: several of Dryden’s best, and it is 
well known that he excelled in these productions, were written 
expressly for her. For instance, the prologue to Aurengzebe , and 
the ludicrous epilogue to Tyrannic Love , in which, after stabbing* 
herself most heroically in the part of Valeria, and the mutes appear 
in conclusion to carry off the dead, she gives the hearer a box on 
the ear and jumps up, exclaiming,— 

“Hold ! are you mad ? you d—d confounded dog ! 

I am to rise and speak the epilogue !” 

In this epilogue, Dryden, who, with all his admiration for Nell 
Gwynn, was aware of her unfitness for the part she acted, puts 
into her mouth a kind of confession of her own deficiencies :— 

“ I am the ghost of poor departed Kelly ; 

* # * * 

To tell you truth, I walk because I die 

Out of my calling —in a tragedy !” 

And the concluding* lines contain an allusion to one of her personal 

characteristics,—the extreme negligence of her dress:— 

% 

* “ To the King’s house, and there saw The Mad Couple, which is but an ordi¬ 
nary play; but only Kell’s and Hart’s mad parts are most excellent done, hut 
especially hers: which makes it a miracle to me to think how ill she do any 
serious part, as the other day, just like a fool or changeling : and, in a mad part, 
do beyond all imitation almost.”—Vol. ii. p. 171. 


152 


NELL GWYNN. 


“ As for my epitaph, when I am gone, 

I’ll trust no poet, but will write my own : 

‘ Here Nelly lies, who, tho’ she lived a slattern, 

Yet died a princess, acting in St. Catherine!’ ” 

The same year that Nell Grwynn first appeared on the stage; she 
attracted the notice of the witty Lord Buckhurst; (afterwards the 
Earl of Dorset^) who took her from the theatre; and allowed her 
£100. a-year. # 

The absence; however; was not long’: she returned to the stage 
in 1068; and appeared in her great character of Almahide; in 
Dry den’s Conquest of Granada. In spite of what Pepys says of 
her acting serious parts vilely; (which was true; in general;) she 
produced a great effect in this character; as is evident from the 
extraordinary success of the play, and the allusion to her; long 
afterwards; by Lord Lansdown; in his Progress of Beauty :— 

“And Almahide, once more by kings adored.” 

The prologue to this tragedy was written for her by Dryden.f 

* Pepys, vol. ii. p. 92, 4to. edit.—“ Mr. Pierce tells us, what troubles me, that 
my Lord Buckhurst has got Nell away from the King’s house, and gives her 
£100. a-year, so as she hath sent her parts to the house, and will act no more.” 
And the following entry a few days after. “ To Epsum, and hear that my Lord 
Buckhurst and Nelly are lodged at the next house, and Sir Charles Sedley with 
them ; and keep a merry house. Poor girl! I pity her; hut more the loss of her 
at the King’s house.” 

“To the King’s playhouse, and there saw The Indian Emperour: where I find 
Nell come again, which I am glad of; hut was most infinitely displeased with her 
being put to act the Emperour’s daughter, which is a great and serious part, 
which she does most basely.”—Yol. ii. p. 112. 

“ Nelly and Beck Marshall falling out the other day, the latter called the other 
my Lord Buckhurst’s mistress. Nell answered her, ‘ I am hut one man’s mis¬ 
tress, though I was brought up in a tavern to fill strong waters to gentlemen ; 
and you are mistress to three or four, though a Presbyter’s praying daughter !’ ” 
—Yol. ii. p. 149. 

t See his works for this Prologue, “ To he spoken by Mistress Ellen Gfwynn, 
in a broad-brimmed hat and waist belt.”— Scott's Edition of Dryden, vol. iii. 


NELL GWYNN. 


153 


It seems that Notes, the favourite buffoon of the rival theatre 
(the duke’s house,) had lately drawn crowds, by appearing* in a 
liug'e broad-brimmed hat, though where the jest lay it is impossible 
to g*uess. Dryden ridiculed this extravagance, by causing Nell to 
appear in a hat double the size, with brims as wide as a cart-wheel; 
her slight short figure, just visible under this vast overhanging 
circumference, and the archness with which she delivered the 
satirical address, were irresistibly droll, and produced all the effect 
expected ; and much more, if the tradition be true, that it was in 
this grotesque costume Nell first captivated her royal lover: but 
there is reason to doubt it. # All that can be ascertained is, that 
from this time the King openly distinguished her; and after the 
first performance went behind the scenes, and took her away in his 
carriage to sup with him. Soon after, Lord Buckhurst resigned 
her for the consideration of an earldom and a pension.')' 

After this elevation (as the contemporary writers express it, and, 
no doubt, very sincerely thought it,) we find Nelly dignified in the 
play-bills with the title of u Madam Ellen,” by which name she 
was popularly known. She appeared on the stage once or twice 
after the birth of her eldest son, but retired from it altogether in 
1671. About this time she was created one of the ladies of the 
Queen’s privy-chamber, under which title she was lodged in 
Whitehall.J Madam Ellen lost none of her popularity by her 

* See Pepys’ Diary, vol. ii. p. 179. 

t Others say that Dorset himself introduced her at court, to shake the influence 
of the Duchess of Cleveland. 

% Pegge’s Curialia, p. 58. This was too disgraceful, but the disgrace rests 
with Charles who offered, and the Queen who endured the outrage, rather than 
upon Nell Gwynu, who certainly never sought the dignity. It is illustrative of 
the morals of the time, that a female writer, iu the Dedication of a Comedy to 
Mistress Ellen Gwyuu, chooses her principal topic of compliment from the 
connexion of that lady with majesty ; and congratulates her upon the children 
born from that union, as peculiar blessings sent down from Heaven upon the 
mother and the kingdom. “ Nor can Ileaven give you more, who has expressed 
a particular care of you in every way, and above all in the bestowing on the world 
and you two noble branches, who have all the greatness and sweetness of their 


154 


NELL GWYNN. 


u elevation.” She carried with her into the court the careless 
assurance of her stage manners ; and, as Burnet says, continued 
u to hang on her clothes with the same slovenly negligencebut 
she likewise carried there qualities even more rare in a court than 
coarse manners and negligent attire,—the same frolic gaiety, the 
same ingenuous nature, and the same kind and cordial benevolence, 
which had rendered her adored among her comrades. Her wit 
was as natural, and as peculiar to herself, as the perfume to the 
dower. She seems to have been, as the Duchess de Chaulnes 
expressed it, u femme d’esprit, par la grace de Dieu.” Her bon- 
mots, fell from her lips with such an unpremeditated felicity of 
expression, and her turn of humour was so perfectly original, 
that though it occasionally verged upon extravagance and 
vulgarity, even her maddest diglits became her; u as if,” says one 
of her cotemporaries, u she alone had the patent from heaven to 
engross all hearts.” Burnet calls her a the wildest and indis- 
creetest creature that ever was in a court 5 ” and speaking of the . 
King’s constant attachment to her, he adds, u but, after all, he 
never treated her with the decencies of a mistress.” This last 
observation of the good bishop is certainly u twisted into a phrase 
of some obscurity :” the truth is, that Nell had a natural turn for 
goodness, which survived all her excesses; she was wild and 
extravagant, hut not rapacious or seldsh,—frail, not vicious ; she 
never meddled with politics, nor made herself the tool of ambitious 

royal and beautiful stock,” &c. &c. Indeed, some passages in tliis extraordinary 
address come so near to blasphemy, that a mind, not overtinctured with piety, 
must recoil from the repetition of them. “ So excellent and perfect a creature 
as yourself, differs only from the Divine Powers in this,” &c.; and again, “When 
you [that is Nelly!!] speak, men crowd to listen with that awful reverence as to 
holy oracles, or divine prophecies.” It is charitable to hope, that by ‘ Divine 
Powers,’ the authoress insinuated nothing beyond the Paphian deities; and by 
‘ oracles and prophecies,’ meant only the responses of the Priestess of Cytherea. 
We turn with pleasure to the social qualities of this divinity, which have never been 
disputed, and are prettily touched upon in another part of this dedication. “ You 
never appeal*, but you glad the hearts of all that have the happy fortune to see 
you, as if you were made on purpose to put the whole world into good- 
humour.” * 


NELL GWYNN. 


155 


courtiers. At the time that the King’s mistresses were every¬ 
where execrated for their avarice and arrogance, it was remarked 
that Nell Gwynn never asked anything for herself, never gave 
herself unbecoming airs, as if she deemed her unhappy situation 
a subject of pride: there is not a single instance of her using her 
influence over Charles for any unworthy purpose ; but, on the 
contrary, the presents which the King’s love or bounty lavished 
upon her, she gave and spent freely; and misfortune, deserved or 
undeserved, never approached her in vain. Once, as she was 
driving up Ludgate-Hill, she saw a poor clergyman in the hands 
of the sheriff’s officers, and struck with compassion, she alighted 
from her carriage, inquired into the circumstances of his arrest, 
and paid his debt on the spot; and finding, on application to the 
vouchers he had named, that his character was as unexceptionable 
as his misfortunes were real, she generously befriended him and his 
family. The plan of that fine institution, Chelsea Hospital, would 
probably never have been completed, at least in the reign of 
Charles, but for the persevering and benevolent enthusiasm of 
this woman, who never let the King rest till it was carried into 
execution. 

These, and many other instances of her kind nature, endeared 
her to the populace. On one occasion, a superb service of plate, 
which had been ordered for the Duchess of Portsmouth, was exhi¬ 
bited in the shop of a certain goldsmith, and the common people 
crowded round the window to gaze. On learning for whom it was 
intended, they broke out into execrations and abuse, wishing 
the silver melted and poured down her throat, and loudly 
exclaiming, that a it had been much better bestowed upon 
Madam Ellen.” 

Strange as it may seem, Nell piqued herself upon her orthodox 
principles and her reverence for the clergy, partly from a sincere 
religious feeling which had been early and unaccountably impressed 
on her mind, and never left her • and partly, perhaps, out of oppo¬ 
sition to the Papist favourite, the Duchess of Portsmouth. Madame 


156 


NELL GWYNN. 


de Sevigne gives in one of her letters so piquant a description of 
Nell Gwynn and her merry impertinence to her rival, that instead 
of referring' to the volume, I give the passage at length. 

u Keroualle” (the Duchess of Portsmouth) a n’a ete trompee sur 

rien. Elle avoit envie d’etre la maitresse du roi j elle Test. 

Elle a un fils qui vient d’etre reconnu, et a qui on a donne deux 
duches. Elle amasse des tresors, et se fait aimer et respecter de 
qui elle peut • mais elle n’avoit pas prevu trouver en chemin, une 
jeune comedienne, dont le roi est ensorcele. Elle n’a pas le 
pouvoir de l’en detacher un moment. La comedienne est aussi 
fiere que la Duchesse de Portsmouth: elle la morgue, lui derobe 
souvent le roi, et se vante.de ses preferences. Elle est jeune, folle, 
hardie, debauchee, et plaisante : elle chante, elle danse, et fait son 
metier de bonne foi: elle a un fils * elle veut qu’il soit reconnu. 
Yoici son raisonnement: ( Cette demoiselle,’dit elle, 1 fait la per- 
sonne de qualite. Elle dit, que tout est son parent en France. Des 
qu’il meurt quelque grand, elle prend le deuil. He bien ! puis- 

qu’elle est de si grande qualite, pourquoi s’est elle faite.? 

Elle devroit mourir de honte. Pour moi, c’est mon metier; je ne 
me pique pas d’autre chose. Le roi m’entretient ; je ne suis qu’a 
lui presentement. J’en ai un fils, je pretends qu’il doit etre 
reconnu • et il le reconnoitra, car il m’aime autant que sa Ports¬ 
mouth.’ — u Cette creature,” continues Madame de Sevigne, 
u tient le haut du pave, et decontenance et emharrasse extraor- 
dinairement la duchesse.” 

Besides her apartment in Whitehall, in quality of lady of the 
Queen’s privy-chamber, Nell Gwynn had lodgings in Pall Mall,* 
where she frequently entertained the King and a few of his chosen 
companions with petits soupers and select concerts. On one of 
these occasions she had collected together some new and excellent 

* At the left hand comer of St. James’s-square: the walls of the hack room 
on the ground-floor were (within memory) entirely of looking-glass, as was said 
to have been the ceiling.— Pennant's London, p. 90. 




N ELL GWYNN. 


157 


performers, and the King* was so much enchanted, that he expressed 
his approbation in strong* terms. u Then, sir,” said Nell, holding- 
out her hand, u to shew that you do not speak merely as a cour¬ 
tier, let me have the pleasure of presenting’ these poor people with 
a gratuity from your majesty !” The King, feeling in his pocket, 
declared he had no money, and turning to the Duke of York, asked 
him if he had any ? The duke replied, u No, sir, I believe not 
above a guinea or two.” Nell, shaking* her head, with her iietit 
air malin , and drolly mimicking the King’s tone and habitual 
expression, exclaimed, u Odds fish ! what company have I got 
into here!” 

I 

Cibber, who relates this anecdote, and lived about the same time, 
tells us that Nell was never known to have been unfaithful to the 
King, from the moment he first noticed her, and that she was u as 
much distinguished for her personal attachment to him, as her 
rivals were by their titles and grandeur.” Her disinterested affec¬ 
tion, her sprightly humour, her inexhaustible powers of entertain¬ 
ment, and constant desire to please, must have formed an agreeable 
contrast to the rapacity, ill temper, affectation, and arrogant 
caprices of the other court ladies. Charles, in spite of every 
attempt made to detach him from her, loved her to the last, and 
his last thought was for her :— u Let not poor Nelly starve!” 
Burnet, who records this dying speech, is piously scandalized that 
the King* should have thoug’ht of such u a creature” in such a 
moment j but some will consider it with more mercy, as one among 
the few traits which redeem the sensual and worthless Charles 
from utter contempt. 

After the King’s death, Nell Gwynn continued to reside in Pall 
Mall, where she lived on a small pension and some presents the 
King had made her. She survived him about seven years, con¬ 
ducting herself with the strictest decorum, and spending her time 
in devotion, and her small allowance in acts of beneficence : she 
died in 1091. Dr. Tennison, then Vicar of St. Martins, and after¬ 
wards Archbishop of Canterbury, preached her funeral sermon, in 


158 


NELL GWYNN. 


which he enlarged upon her benevolent qualities, her sincere peni¬ 
tence, and exemplary end. When this was afterwards mentioned 
to Queen Mary, in the hope that it would injure him in her esti¬ 
mation, and be a bar to his preferment. “And what then?” 
answered she hastily; “ I have heard as much : it is a sign that 
the poor unfortunate woman died penitent ‘ for if I can read a 
man’s heart through his looks, had she not made a pious and 
Christian end, the doctor could never have been induced to speak 
well of her!” 

Nell Gwynn was possessed of little at her death, and that little 
was by her will distributed in charity. She left, among other 
bequests, a small sum yearly to the ringers of the church of St. 
Martin, where she was buried, which donation they still enjo}\ 

She bore the King two sons, Charles and James Beauclerc. 
Charles Beauclerc, her eldest son, was born in Lincoln’s Inn 
Fields, in 1670, a short time before his mother quitted the stage. 
The occasion of his being titled and acknowledged, is too charac¬ 
teristic to be omitted. When the children of the Duchesses of 
Cleveland and Portsmouth had been dignified with titles, orders, 
and offices, Nell Gwynn naturally felt piqued that her sons, whose 
filial claims upon his majesty, as the fountain of honour, were at 
least as well founded, should be passed over, and she took her own 
whimsical method of hinting her wishes to the King. One day, 
when his majesty was present, and her eldest son was playing in 
the room, she called to him aloud, in a petulant tone, “ Come here, 
you little bastard!” The King, much shocked, reproved her: 
she replied meekly, and with the most demure simplicity, that 
u indeed she was very sorry, but had no better name to give him, 
poor boy!” 

A few days afterwards, this nameless young gentleman was 
created Baron of Heddington and Earl of Burford; and in 1683, 
Duke of St. Albans, Registrar of the High Court of Chancery, 
and Grand Falconer of England. He inherited his mother’s per- 


NELL GWYNN. 


159 


so rial beauty, and served with great bravery under King William.* 
This first Duke of St. Albans married Lady Diana Yere, sole 
daughter of Aubrey de Yere, twentieth and last Earl of Oxford, 
and the greatest heiress in rank and descent in the three king¬ 
doms.'!' She was very young* at the period of her marriage, and 
as amiable and as innocent as lovely. She was the mother of 
eight sons, of whom Lord Yere Beauclerc, (ancestor of the present 
duke,) was distinguished as a naval commander ; and Lord Sidney 
Beauclerc was the father of that Topham Beauclerc, who was the 
friend of Dr. Johnson, and one of the worthies of Boswell. The 
present Duke of St. Albans is the fifth in descent from Nell 
Gwynn. 

Her younger son, Lord James Beauclerc, died in his childhood 
at Paris. 

The secret of Nell G wynn’s popularity seems to have consisted 
in what is generally called heart , in a kindness and candour of dis¬ 
position which the errors and abject miseries of her youth could not 
harden, nor her acquaintance with a corrupt court entirely vitiate. 
O 11 comparing and combining the scattered traits and personal allu¬ 
sions found in contemporary writers, it appears that she was in 
person considerably below the middle size, but formed with perfect 
elegance; the contour of her face was round, her features delicate, 
her eyes bright and intelligent, but so small as to be almost con¬ 
cealed when she laughed \ her cheek was usually dimpled with 
smiles, and her countenance radiant with hilarity, but when at rest 
it was soft and even pensive in its expression \ her voice was 
sweet and well modulated; her hair glossy, abundant, and of a 
light auburn * her hands were singularly small and beautiful, and 


* [“ He is a gentleman every way de bon naturel, well-bred, doth not love 
business; is well affected to the constitution of this country. He is of a black 
complexion, not so tall as the Duke of Northumberland, yet very like King 
Charles.” — Spring Machj. — Ed .] 

t Her picture, by Kneller, is among the Beauties at Hampton Court. 


100 


NELL GYWNN. 


her pretty foot so very diminutive, as to afford occasion for mirth 
as well as admiration. 

The engraved portrait is after a picture by Sir Peter Lely, in the 
possession of General Grosvenor it agrees perfectly with the 
foregoing- description, and there can exist no doubt of its authen¬ 
ticity. The dress is certainly in the extreme of that negligence 
for which the lady was remarkable ; 

“ Eobes loosely flowing—hair as free.” 

Her left hand rests upon a lamb which she crowns with flowers. 
The turn of the neck and the air of the head are full of grace and 
character ; and the whole picture, though a little injured by time, 
is exquisitely painted. 


[Mrs. Jameson has said enough to make her readers suppose 
that there were versions of the youthful history of Nell Gwynn 
which differed much from the one she has given. It would, 
indeed, have been strange had not the love of scandal, and even 
curiosity and less culpable feelings, been employed, not only in 
raking up, but in inventing, anecdotes relating to the obscure 
beginnings of one who had gained so great a notoriety. As far as 
regards Nelly, or her contemporaries in the same class, the bad 
feeling’s are long ago laid asleep and forgotten ; but with many of 
our readers one at least, that of curiosity, may still live, and for 
its gratification we will trace briefly one of the stories that were 
sent afloat of her birth and first introduction to the world. It 
will easily be seen, that the object of the person who wrote it was 
to make her birth appear as respectable as possible. 

She was the daughter, (this story tells us,) of a tradesman in 
mean circumstances, who early implanted in her mind a great 
sense of virtue and delicacy, the former of which she was not long- 
in parting with, and yet without the misfortune of losing the 
latter. She no sooner became conscious of her own charms, than 
she solicited her father to permit her to go into the world under 



NELL GWYNN. 


101 


the protection of a lady, where she imagined that her beauty 
would soon raise admirers • and by having an opportunity of a 
more unrestrained manner, she was not without hopes of making 
her fortune at the expense of some visitor of the lady in whose house 
she was to live as a companion. She soon attracted the admi¬ 
ration of a celebrated lawyer, “from whom a family now flourish¬ 
ing in the world is descended and he began to conceive a violent 
passion for her, and his hopes of success were inflamed from the 
frequent opportunities he had of conversing* with, and the degree 
of her station, which he imagined would expose her to the tempta¬ 
tion of accepting presents and money as the price of her virtue. 
We are told that the lady had a penchant for this handsome 
lawyer; and that when she perceived his attentions to Nell 
Gwynn, she from that moment conceived an aversion to Nell, and 
in a few days turned her out of her house. 

Nell Gwynn, thus reduced, was coldly received by her father, 
who had already been prejudiced against her by her mistress. He 
threatened to abandon her for ever, if she did not consent to go 
into Yorkshire and live with her aunt, who was the wife of a 

parish-clerk in the little village of-. Nell would not listen to 

this proposal, and cast her eye upon the stage. She left her 
father’s house, took a private lodging, and as her appearance was 
elegant, she passed for a young' lady just come up from the 
country. In this retirement she applied herself to reading plays, 
and having a little money which her mistress had given her, and 
ten guineas which the lawyer had made her a present of, she 
went very often to the theatre, to study the acting of the different 
performers then in vogue. After living a month or two in this 
manner, she wrote a letter to Betterton, inviting him to her 
lodgings, and there disclosed her scheme of coming on the stage, 
and desired he would give his opinion of her powers in recitation. 
He told her plainly that she was not then fit for the stage, though 
she seemed to have a g*enius that way, and advised her to seek 
some other mode of livelihood. Her scheme being so fin* defeated, 
and her money diminishing apace, she began to be alarmed lest 


162 


NELL GWYNN. 


poverty should overtake her; and resolved to quit her apartments, 
and to try and introduce herself at the theatre by dressing* herself 
in the g*arb of an orange-girl. 

Her plan, it seems, answered better than might have been 
expected. No sooner had she appeared in the pit and behind the 
scenes with her orang*es, than the eyes of the actors, and the 
young* wits and men of fashion who frequented the theatres, were 
fixed upon her, all anxious to know the story and birth of the 
handsome orang*e-g*irl. Betterton, who soon knew her in her 
disg*uise, seemed astonished at her resolution, and beg*an to form 
g*reat expectations from one, whose propensity to the stag*e was so 
violent, as to induce her to appear in so low a character for the 
sake of acquiring* instruction. 

An actor prevailed upon her to quit her profession of orange- 
selling*, and offered to share his salary with her; and she accepted 
his proposal, and lived with him in easy tranquillity, for some time. 
She afterwards left him, and lived with her former acquaintance, 
the lawyer. 

According* to the story we are now following*, Nell passed 
through several hands before she attracted the attention of the 
King; but the history of all her intrigues has no claim to a place 
in our pages. Suffice it to say, that one of her possessors is said 
to have been the notorious Rochester ; and that when kept by him, 
she is said to have made her first attempt to patronise the poet 
Dry den, who, as a writer, was the object of Rochester’s peculiar 
jealousy. u She had heard one day at the play, that Dry den was 
in distress, on account of a tragedy he had offered to the stage 
being, from some capricious considerations of the Lord Chamberlain, 
rejected. She mentioned this circumstance to Rochester, and 
begged him to interpose his interest to have the objection removed, 
and the play brought upon the stage; but in this suit she was 
unsuccessful. So far from complying with it, he stirred himself to 
have Dryden discarded at court, and recommended an obscure in- 


NELL GWYNN. 


103 


dividual of the name of Crown, to write a masque to be represented 
before their majesties.” 

A long* story is told of the manner in which Nell Gwynn left 
Rochester, and of the revenge taken by the latter in his writings. 
She was now the mistress, if we believe this story, of a brother of 
the u Duchess of Cleveland,” who enjoyed some share of the King’s 
favour, but from whose eyes he studiously concealed Nell Gwynn. 

u One day however, in spite of his caution, his majesty saw her, 
and that very night possessed her. Her lover carried her to the 
play, at a time when he had not the least suspicion of his majesty’s 
being* there; but as that monarch had an aversion to his robes of 
royalty, and was incumbered with the dignity of his state, he chose 
frequently to throw off the load of kingship, and consider himself 
as a private gentleman. 

u Upon this occasion he came to the play, incog ., and sat in the 
next box to Nell and her lover. As soon as the play was finished, 
his majesty, with the Duke of York, the young nobleman, and 
Nell, retired to a tavern together, where they regaled themselves 
over a bottle j and the King showed such civilities to Nell, that 
she began to understand the meaning* of his gallantry. 

u The tavern-keeper was entirely ignorant of the quality of the 
company * and it was remarkable, that when the reckoning* came 
to he paid, his majesty, upon searching his pockets, found that he 
had not money enough about him to discharge it, and asked the 
sum of his brother, who was in the same situation: upon which 
Nell observed, that she had got into the poorest company that ever 
she was in at a tavern. The reckoning was paid by the young 
nobleman, who that night parted both with his money and mistress. 
Such were the gradations by which this celebrated courtesan rose 
to the eminence of an imperial mistress: and in that situation it 
must be owned, of all this prince’s favourites, she was both the 
most prolific and the least offensive to the jarring interests of the 

m 2 


1C4 


NELL GWYNN. 


court or country. She observed an evenness of conduct, and 
behaved with so much mildness, that none were her enemies who 
were friends to the King*, and none ever libelled her, but the 
malevolent Lord Rochester.” 

Many stories are told of Nell G wynn’s charity and goodness of 
heart. Her benevolent exertions in behalf of the neg-lected author 
of Hudibras , were equally unsuccessful with the King*, as with his 
minister Bucking-ham. She was not always, however, disappointed 
in her charitable intentions. One day, when she was u rolling* 
about town in her coach,” a poor wretch solicited charity at her 
coach-door, representing- himself as an old soldier who had been 
disabled in the civil wars, while fighting* in the royal cause. The 
heart of Nell Gwynn was touched by his distress 3 she hurried to 
lay his g-riefs before the King*, and from this circumstance, we are 
told, arose her zeal for the establishment of Chelsea Hospital. 

One day, when he had been strug-g-ling* in the council, and torn 
to pieces by the multiplicity of petitions presented to him for 
redress, the outrageous behaviour of the ministers, and the fierce 
contentions of parliament, he retired into Nell’s apartment very 
pensive, and seemed quite broken under the influence of grief: she 
took the liberty to ask his majesty the cause of his disorder. u 0 
Nell!” says he, u what shall I do to please the people of England ? 
I am torn to pieces by their clamours .”— u If it please your 
majesty,” says she, u there is but one way left, which expedient I 
am afraid it will be difficult to persuade you to embrace .”— u What 
is that?” says his majesty, in a tone that denoted curiosity.— 
u Dismiss your ladies, may it please your majesty, and mind your 
business: the people of England will soon be pleased.” 

We are tempted to add, from the same source which has 
furnished us with the foregoing* version of her history, another 
anecdote of Nells mode of drawing* the King’s attention to his own 
affairs. That she often exerted herself to effect this object, seems 
certain; though she might be partly influenced by opposition to 


NELL GWYNN. 


105 


the other royal mistresses, wltose exertions had quite another 
aim. 

“ One day, when the council had met and waited long’ for his 
majesty’s appearance, one of the lords came to the apartment of 
the King-, but was refused admittance. He complained to Kell of 
this insufferable dilatoriness; upon which she laid a wag*er with 
the nobleman, of a hundred pounds, that, that very evening*, she 
would fall upon a scheme that would bring* him to the council. 
She sent for Killigrew, a character so well known in those times, 
that none of our readers can be ig*norant of his station; and 
desired him to dress himself in boots, and in every respect as if 
he was g'oing- a journey, and enter the King-’s apartment with¬ 
out ceremony. Killigrew immediately eng*ag’ed in her scheme, 
equipped himself, and entered the apartment. As soon as his 
majesty saw him, ( What, Killigrew ! are you mad ? Why, where 
are you going’? Did I not order that nobody should disturb 
me ?’— ( I don’t mind your orders, not I,’ says Killigrew; c and I 
am g’oing* as fast as I can .’— c Why where,’ says his majesty, 
( where are you g’oing ’?’—‘ Going’? why to hell,’says Killigrew. 
f To hell? and what to do there?’ says his majesty. 1 To fetch up 
Oliver Cromwell from thence,’ says he, c to take some care of the 
national concerns; for I am sure your majesty takes none.’ 

“This expedient, concerted by Nell Gwynn and executed by 
Killigrew, had the desired effect; for he immediately went to the 
council, and, as long’ as he could bear the badg'es of royalty, 
continued with them.” 

Another story, given by the same writer, is highly characteristic 
of our heroine. One day she was driving in her coach to White¬ 
hall. Her coachman refused to give way to another coach, in 
which was a lady of quality. High words soon arose between the 
two coachmen, and the other refused to give way, because, he said, 
he had himself the honour to be driving a countess, whilst his lady 
was neither more nor less than a-, applying to his mistress a 


100 


NELL GWYNN. 


very offensive term. The indignant coachman jumped from his 
seat; and administered to the offender a severe beating. When 
Nell Gwynn inquired the cause of the quarrel; and her coachman 
repeated to her the offensive expression which had stirred up his 
choler; u Go; you blockhead!” said she; u never fight again in 
such a cause; nor risk your carcass hut in defence of truth.” The 
King* laughed heartily; when he heard the story; and complied 
with the lady’s request; when she desired a place for her coach¬ 
man.— Ed.] 












Sir Teler J 








THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. 


“ Chaste was she, to detraction’s desperation, 

And wedded unto one she had loved well— 

A man known in the councils of the nation, 

Cool and quite English—imperturbable. 

Though apt to act with fire upon occasion. 

Proud of himself and her the world could tell 
Nought against either, and both seemed secure— 

She in her virtue, he in his hauteur.” 

Lord Byron. 


In the reign of Charles the Second, there were three Duchesses 
of Somerset: it has therefore been a matter of some difficulty to 
appropriate the beautiful picture in the gallery at Windsor to its 
true original. 

The first of these ladies was Frances, widow of William second 
Duke of Somerset; more celebrated by the title of the Marquis of 
Hertford—he who eloped with Lady Arabella Stuart in the reign 
of James the First. She died, very old, in 1079. 

The second was Sarah, wife of John fourth Duke of Somerset; 
the daughter of a physician, and the widow of George Grimstone, 
Esq. The prints and pictures of this duchess bear no resemblance 
to the picture known at Windsor as the Duchess of Somerset, 
neither is she mentioned in the Court Chronicles of the day : her 
fame rests upon a far different basis,—that of a foundress of alms- 




THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. 


ro8 

houses and a benefactress of colleges. She died, at a very advanced 
age, in 1093. 

The third duchess (Lady Elizabeth Percy) did not bear that 
title till 1082, and the picture in question must have been painted 
before that time. This, however, is not a conclusive argument. 
According to Horace Walpole, and others, Sir Peter Lely died 
suddenly, in 1080, while painting a portrait of the u beautiful 
Duchess of Somersetnow there could have been no other beau¬ 
tiful Duchess of Somerset alluded to, except the Lady Elizabeth, 
who so soon afterwards bore that title. There is, I must confess, 
a maturity of beauty about this portrait, which scarce agrees with 
the youthful age of the lady. It is difficult to reconcile all these 
circumstances, and it is not without diffidence, and some feeling of 
uncertainty, that the .accompanying portrait has been adjudged to 
the Lady Elizabeth Percy. 

This beautiful woman, who united in her own person the long- 
descended honours and vast possessions of the House of Percy, 
was the sole daughter of Josceline, eleventh and last Earl of Nor¬ 
thumberland, in the direct line, and Lad} r Elizabeth Wriothesley, 
youngest daughter of the Earl of Southampton. 

Her father, dying abroad, left her, an infant of four years old, 
heiress of all the immense estates of her family, and holding in her 
own rig-lit six of the oldest baronies in the kingxlom: those of 
Percy, Lucy, Poynings, Fitz-Payne, Bryan, and Latimer. 

The Lady Elizabeth Percy was early consigned to the care of 
her grandmother, the old Countess of Northumberland, # who gave 
her a strict and excellent education. But so great an heiress 
could not be long kept in retirement, or in ignorance of her own 
rights and importance; even in her infancy she was surrounded 

* Lady Elizabeth Howard, second wife of Algernon tenth Earl of Northum¬ 
berland. 


THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. 


169 

by suitors, who sighed,—not for her immature charms, hut her 
broad lands and proud titles; and it was her peculiar fate to be 
three times a wife, and twice a widow, before she was sixteen. 

She was first married, at the ag-e of thirteen, to Henry Caven¬ 
dish, Earl of Ogle, (only son of the Duke of Newcastle,) who 
assumed immediately the name and arms of Percy. The young- 
earl was about the same ag-e as his bride, and a boy of great 
promise; but he unfortunately died within a few months after his 
marriage, in 1G80. 

Upon his death, lovers, or rather suitors, again crowded round 
the youthful countess, then in her fourteenth year. Among* them 
were Thomas Thynne, of Longleate Hall; and the celebrated 
adventurer, Count Koningsmark. The personal advantages of 
Koningsmark possibly attracted the notice of the inexperienced 
girl • but her relations hastened to prevent the effects of his cap¬ 
tivating- assiduities, by contracting* her to Mr. Thynne; but before 
the marriage could be actually solemnized, Thynne was murdered 
in his carriage, while driving through Pall Mall, by three assassins 
hired by Koningsmark for the purpose. The count himself escaped 
abroad; but the three wretched instruments of his crime were 
apprehended, and suffered on the very spot on which it was com¬ 
mitted. 

Thynne seems to have been a weak man, and a heartless libertine 
to boot; and Lady Elizabeth may be pardoned for the little regret 
she bestowed on his tragical fate. As her affections had never 
been em>-ao-ed, or even her inclinations consulted in this union, she 
was, after the first shock, easily consoled; and in three months 
afterwards, (May 20th, 1682,) she married Charles Seymour, sixth 
Duke of Somerset. 

The duke was then in his twentieth year, possessed of a fine 
commanding person, dark complexioned, and regularly handsome; 
he was generous, brave, and magnificent, with a cultivated mind, 


170 


THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. 


and a taste for the fine arts ; but so inordinately arrogant 
in his manners, and vain of his illustrious rank, that in his 
own time, and since, he has always been distinguished as the 
“ proud Duke of Somerset.”* This ruling foible, which in 
its excess almost bordered on insanity, threw a shade of ridicule 
over his character in public ; but in private, it was supported by 
such high qualities of heart and mind, that no man, perhaps, was 
ever so much adored, and at the same time beheld with such awful 
reverence by his family and dependents. His wife gave a strong 
proof of her love for him, when, in spite of her own pride of 
ancestry, and it was not inconsiderable,—for she had been educated 
with a high idea of all the importance which attached to her as 
the heiress and representative of the Percies,—she sacrificed her 
pride to her affection. Her first act, when she came of age, was 
to release her husband from the disagreeable obligation imposed by 
her marriage articles, of changing the name of Seymour for that of 
Percy; while she dropped her own family name, illustrious and 
dear as it must have been in her eyes, to take that of her husband, 
—dearer to her because it was his: and this was just as it should 
be, in the right and true feeling of an affectionate woman. 

The duchess was subsequently one of the greatest ornaments of 
the court of William the Third and Queen Anne 5 and on the 
disgrace of the Duchess of Marlborough, succeeded her as Groom 
of the Stole to the Queen. She died in 1722, after having pre¬ 
sented her husband with thirteen children, of whom two only 
survived her. 

Her eldest son Algernon, Earl of Hertford, distinguished him¬ 
self in the Duke of Marlborough’s wars, and was in every respect 

* His children were not allowed to sit in liis presence ; his servants obeyed by 
signs ; and when he travelled, the roads were cleared before him by his outriders. 
“ Get out of the way !” cried one of these to a countryman who was driving a 
pig, “ my lord duke is coming, and does not choose to be looked upon.” The 
fellow, a true John Bull, snatched up his pig in a rage, and holding him up at the 
carriage window, exclaimed, “But I will see him! and my pig shall see him too!" 


THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET, 


171 


one of the most accomplished noblemen of his time. His wife 
(who, by an odd fatality, was one of the family of Thynne) was 
that amiable Duchess of Somerset, many of whose letters have 
been published in Slienstone’s correspondence. Through their 
only daughter, who became the representative of the Percies and 
Seymours, the title of the former family, and the possessions of 
both, descended to the present Duke of Northumberland.* 

This portrait of the Duchess of Somerset was engraved, many 
years ago, under the mistaken title of the Countess of Ossory. 
With the exception of the right hand, the position and drawing of 
which are really inexcusable, this is one of the loveliest pictures in 
the Gallery of Beauties. She is represented leaning on a pedestal; 
the head is a little inclined, the complexion fair, and the features 
beautiful. The drapery, which is of a pale blue, is rather too 
negligently put on;—I am at a loss to tell for what it is intended, 
as it is so arranged that, on the least movement, it must inevitably 
fall from the lovely form it conceals. The bust is much exposed ; 
but nothing can exceed the delicacy of the tints and pencilling in 
the neck and bosom, and the sweet and tender manner in which 
the whole picture is executed. The back-ground is equal to the 
rest. 


[Spring Macky gives the following account of Charles Duke of 
Somerset, descended of the ancient family of Seymour , which made 
so great a figure in the reign of Edward the Sixth. 

(t The duke, in the reign of King Charles the Second had the 
Garter, and married the heiress of Piercy of Northumberland, 

* After the death of the Duchess Elizabeth, the duke married, in 1725, Lady 
Charlotte Finch. A short time after their union, his young bride wishing to 
command his attention, playfully tapped him on the shoulder with her fan: her 
husband, startled at such a freedom, turned upon her frowningly,—“ Madam,” 
said he, “ my first wife was a Percy, and she never took such a liberty!” 



173 


THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET. 


which much increased his estate ; but he made no considerable 
fig'ure till the reign of King- James, when, being- in waiting* as 
bed-chamberman, and at the arrival of the Pope’s Nuncio in 
England, and refusing* to assist at the ceremony of the introduction, 
he was dismissed from all his employments. He, notwithstanding*, 
did not enter into the measures of the Revolution, but for some 
years warmly opposed the designs of King William’s ministers; 
joined in impeaching* the Partition; and protested against acquit¬ 
ting those who advised it. Yet upon the French King’s sending* 
the Duke of Anjou to Spain, he came over to the service of his 
country, and was made President of the Council, and joined with a 
great deal of zeal in the methods concerted for preventing the 
growing power of France. On the Queen’s accession to the throne, 
he was made Master of the Horse \ and appears at court, with a 
great deal of warmth, for a party that seems to suffer by King* 
William’s death. 

u He is of a middle stature, well shaped, a very black complexion, 
a lover of music and poetry ; of good judgment , but by reason of 
great hesitation in his speech, wants expression.” 

Dean Swift says, that a he had not a grain of good judgment, 
hardly common sense.”— Ed.] 





































THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


“ Lost in a labyrinth of doubts and joys, 

Whom now her smiles revived, her scorn destroys; 

She will, and she will not—she grants, denies. 

Consents, retracts, advances, and then flies.” 

GrRAKYILLE. 


Among the beautiful women of Charles’s court, none were more 
conspicuous during- their life, or have been more celebrated since 
their death, than Frances Stewart — u La Belle Stewart” of De 
Grammont’s Memoirs, and afterwards Duchess of Bichmond: yet 
her character as a woman is neither elevated nor interesting; and 
the passion which the King- long- entertained for her, and the 
liberties in which she indulg’ed him, either through weakness or a 
spirit of coquetry, exposed her, at one period, to very disgraceful 
imputations. On a review of her whole conduct, as far as it can 
now be known and judged from the information of contemporary 
writers, the testimonies in favour of her virtue appear to prepon¬ 
derate ; yet it must be confessed that we are left to choose between 
two alternatives, and it is hard to tell which is the worst: if u La 
Belle Stewart” was not the most cold and most artful coquette 
that ever perplexed the wits of man, she was certainly the most 
cunning piece of frailty that ever wore the form of woman. 

Frances Theresa Stewart was the daughter of Walter Stewart, 
Esq., third son of Lord Blantyre. The family had been distin¬ 
guished for loyalty, and had suffered much in the civil wars. 




174 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


Walter Stewart took refuge in France, where, as it appears, either 
himself or his wife was attached to the household of the widowed 
Queen Henrietta Maria. Miss Stewart was thus brought up 
under the eye of royalty; and such was the admiration which 
even her budding 1 and immature loveliness attracted in the French 
capital, that Lewis the Fourteenth wished to have detained her, 
merely as an ornament to his court, and offered her mother to 
portion and marry her nobly ; but on the restoration of the royal 
family, the Queen-dowager refused to leave her young favourite 
behind, and brought her, with her mother and her sister Sophia, in 
her train to England. I have not been able to ascertain the date 
of Miss Stewart’s birth, hut she must have been so extremely 
young at the period of her arrival, as not to have reached her full 
growth.* Partly through the influence of the Queen-mother, and 
partly owing to her father’s claims on the royal protection, she was 
appointed one of the Maids of Honour to Catherine of Braganza 
in 1603; but some months elapsed before her beauty, expanding 
into all the graces of womanhood, produced that sensation which 
it afterwards caused in the court. 

Soon after her arrival, Miss Stewart formed a kind of friendship 
with Lady Castlemaine; which, considering her duty to the Queen, 
and the character of the favourite, was not very reputable, and is 
scarcely excused by her youth and inexperience. Lady Castle¬ 
maine, either confiding in her own charms, or contemning the 
childish character and trusting in the coldness of the young beauty, 
affected to patronise her, had her constantly at her side, and 
almost forced her upon the King’s notice. She was the last to 
perceive what a formidable rival she had raised up for herself 5 and 
then, as was natural in her vain, vindictive mind, all her fondness 
turned to measureless hatred. This enmity extended itself even to 
the waiting-maids of the rival beauties, and the court was some¬ 
times so disturbed by the squabbles of these abigails, that the King 

* Pepys.—He observes, in one passage, that Miss Stewart had grown con¬ 
siderably since be last saw her : this was in 1GG4. 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


' 175 


exposed himself to ridicule by interfering to restore peace between 
them. 

There seems to have been but one opinion as to the consummate 
loveliness of Miss Stewart. Her features were faultless and 
regular, her complexion dazzling, her hair fair and luxuriant. 
Her figure, which rose above the common height, was well pro¬ 
portioned, though slender; she danced, walked, dressed with perfect 
elegance, and sat her horse with peculiar grace. To her Parisian 
education she owed that air de jparure which excited De Gram- 
mont’s admiration, as being so a truly French.” She was polished 
and gentle in her deportment, and does not appear to have been 
infected by the coarseness of her friend Lady Castlemaine, either 
in mind or manners. Lord Clarendon adds one trait, which ought 
not, in justice, to be omitted ,— a that she was never known to 
speak ill of any one.” This constitutional good-nature, her child¬ 
ish disposition, her dislike to all serious pursuits or conversation, 
and her perfect indifference to state intrigues, must have captivated 
Charles even more than the transcendant beauty of her face and 
figure. He had a just aversion for all learned and political ladies: 
with less reason, though a wit himself, he hated wit in a woman, 
and any thing like sentiment or refinement appeared to him abso¬ 
lutely superfluous, and merely synonymous with prudery and 
hypocrisy. 

Charms such as Miss Stewart possessed, would certainly have 
dealt destruction round the whole court, hut for two powerful 
reasons. In the first place, the King’s admiration was so early 
and so ardently displayed, that no well-bred courtier dared openly 
to interfere with his homage, or obstruct his views; and secondly, 
Miss Stewart’s understanding was not equal to her beauty. The 
frivolity of her mind, the shallowness of her character, and the 
coldness of her temper, must have diminished the power of mere 
external grace, in a court adorned by such women as Miss Hamil¬ 
ton and Lady Chesterfield. 


17G 


TIIE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


She seems to have possessed just wit enough to feel her power, 
and use it “ for the convenience of her own fortune.”* Fond of 
adoration, yet armed with indifference; weak, yet. cunning; and 
taught by the lessons of an intriguing mother, she was able to 
turn the arts of men against themselves: she could grant small 
favours, hold out alluring hopes, descend, in fact, far beneath a 
woman’s dignity, and strangely compromise a maiden’s modesty. 
But what then ? she preserved a sort of negative reputation; and 
this, I am afraid, is all that can be g*ranted to Miss Stewart. 
Perhaps, if we consider the situation in which she was placed, 
even this is much: she was pursued for years by a gay, 
enamoured, captivating monarch; and not only kept him at 
hay, and trifled with his passion, hut drew within the vortex of 
her destructive charms some of the courtiers, whose youth or 
vanity forgot the greatness of the risk in the greatness of the 
temptation. 

Among the most distinguished of these was the Duke of Buck- 
ingham,—he who, at once “ chemist, fiddler, statesman, and 
buffoon,” could adapt himself to all women as well as to all men. 
Miss Stewart’s amusements were so childish, that Count Hamilton 
assures us, “tout y etait, hors les poupees;”t blindman’s-buff, and 
hunt the slipper, were among her favourite diversions. In the 
presence-chamber she used to employ herself in building houses of 
cards; while those who wished to secure the good graces of the 
beautiful favourite, forsook the basset-table to supply her with 
materials, or affected eagerly to partake her amusement. Among 

* Clarendon, p. 338, folio edit. 

f Miss Stewart was not absolutely singular in her penchant for romping or 
childish diversions. For instance, we find the following memorandum in Pepys : 
“I did find the Duke and Duchess of York, and all the great ladies, sitting upon 
a carpet on the ground, there being no chairs, playing at ‘ I love my love with an 
A, because he is so and so and ‘ I hate him with an A, because of this and 
thatand some of them, but particularly the duchess herself and my Lady 
Castlcmaine, were very witty .”—Pepys Diary, vol. ii. p. 311. 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


1 

1 < ( 

these, Buckingham, that universal genius, was conspicuous for his 
skill in this frail species of architecture: he sang well $ he was an 
excellent mimic, he composed impromptu fairy tales to admiration, 
and couplets more remarkable for their wit than their delicacy. 
These accomplishments, and his gay impertinence, made him so 
agreeable to Miss Stewart, that, with the King’s permission, or at 
least in his presence, she used to send for the duke to amuse her 
whenever she felt ennuyee. Buckingham’s original design had 
been to secure an influence over her mind, which should enable 
him, by governing her, to rule his master • but he was caught in 
his own device : he was unable to resist the charms and flattering 
smiles of this young* Armida; and at length exchanged the 
character of an amusing companion, to assume that of a sighing 
Damon. The metamorphosis was so little pleasing to Miss 
Stewart, that he received a repulse, from which he did not soon 
recover • and which, as it compromised him with the King, left 
him completely at her mercy. Instead of making her subservient 
to his purpose, he was obliged to content himself with being* 
subservient to hers. 

The younger Hamilton was another of her lovers : it does not 
appear that he was distinguished for his skill in card-houses, and 
by his own confession, he did not pique himself on his ready 
invention of fairy tales and scandalous stories for her amusement. 
The manner in which he first attracted the particular notice of 
Miss Stewart, gives us a strange idea of the coarse manners which 
prevailed in Charles’s court. A brilliant circle had assembled one 
evening in Miss Stewart’s apartments at Whitehall, and Lord 
Carlingford, an old Irish peer, undertook to amuse the young- 
beauty by making* what is vulgarly called a u lantern of his jaws;” 
that is, holding a lighted taper in his mouth for a certain time. 
Hamilton would not be outdone in this noble accomplishment, and 
he confounded his competitor by holding at once two tapers in his 
capacious mouth. Killigrew humorously complimented him, and 
offered to back him against a lantern, while Miss Stewart was 
thrown into ecstasies. 


178 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


From this time Hamilton was more particularly graced by her 
favour, and made one of her select coterie ; he presented her with 
a beautiful little horse, on which she had an opportunity of dis¬ 
playing* her inimitable eleg*ance as an equestrian, and was always 
at her side to teach her how to manag*e her spirited steed. In 
short, the lady became every day more gracious, and the gentleman 
more enamoured \ and if De Grammont, then in love with Miss 
Hamilton, had not interfered, with a kind of fraternal interest, and 
roused Hamilton from his inconsiderate dream, this affair would 
probably have ended in his disgrace, and consequent ruin, as his 
fortunes depended wholly on the King’s favour. De Grammont 
represented to him that Miss Stewart had in reality no other view 
than that of making him her u esclave de paradethat Charles, 
though in general the most easy and peaceable of men and 
monarchs, was not to be trifled with on certain points. u Point de 
raillerie avec le maitre, c’est a dire, point de lorgnerie avec 
la maitresse.” Hamilton had just so much sense, or so little love, 
as to take this friendly advice, and withdrew his pretensions in time 
to escape banishment from the court, which assuredly would have 
been the consequence of his temerity. 

Miss Stewart had also the honour of inspiring* with a more 
serious and fervent passion Francis Digby, one of the sons of the 
Earl of Bristol, and a brave and accomplished young man. This 
attachment is not alluded to in the Memoirs of De Grammont, 
being of a later date than the events recorded there \ nor can we 
guess at the degree of encouragement she may have given him, 
except by remembering her character. It was sufficient to turn 
his head, and to make him rush upon danger and death as a relief; 
he was killed in the sea-fight between the English and the Dutch 
in the year 1672. His devoted love for Miss Stewart was so well 
and so publicly known, that Dryden made his fate and her cruelty 
the subject of his song*, u Farewell, fair Armida.” # 

* This song is mere common-place, and deserved the ridicule thrown on it in 
the Rehearsal, where it is ludicrously parodied in “A song made by Tom 
Thimble’s first wife after she was dead.” 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


179 


To these distinguished admirers we may add two others, not 
unknown to fame. Philippe llotier, the celebrated medallist, who 
was called oyer to England, to cut the die for the new coinage, 
exhibited her head on the reverse for Britannia. This man became 
so passionately enamoured of Miss Stewart while she sat to him, 
as nearly to lose his senses. Walpole says, that the profile which 
the same artist afterwards engraved for a medal, displays the 
most perfect face ever seen.* 

Nat Lee, the poet, has addressed a dedication to her, which is 
perfect a Midsummer madness but as he was already on the 
high road to Bedlam, that is not very surprising. The Duke of 
Richmond^ also sighed for her, hut he contented himself for some 

* In Waller’s poems is an epigram on this medal, beginning— 

“ Our guard upon the royal side, 

On the reverse our beauty’s pride,” &c. 

It contains a compliment to Miss Stewart, which implies that her resistance to 
the King received its full credit at court; the verses are common-place, and if 
there be any point in the last line, 

“ Yirtue’s a stronger guard than brass !” 

it can only mean that the virtue of Miss Stewart, such as it was, stood her in 
more stead than the brass of Lady Castlemaine ! 

f For instance :—“Something there is in your mien so much above what we 
vulgarly call charming, that to me it seems adorable, and your presence almost 
divine, whose dazzling and majestic form is a proper mansion for the most ele¬ 
vated soul; and let me tell the world, nay sighing speak it to a barbarous age, (I 
cannot help calling it so, when I think of Home and Greece,) your extraordinary 
love for heroic poetry is not the least argument to show the greatness of your 
mind and fulness of perfection. To hear you speak, with that infinite sweetness 
and cheerfulness of spirit that is natural to your grace, is, methinks, to hear our 
tutelar angels ; ’tis to bemoan the present malicious times, and remember the 
Golden Age; but to behold you, too, is to make prophets quite forget their 
heaven, and blind a poet with eternal rapture !” &c. &c. 

+ Charles Stewart, Duke of Richmond and Lennox : he was the last Duke of 
Richmond of his family. After his death, Charles II. conferred the title on the 
son of the Duchess of Portsmouth. The present head of that branch of the 
Stewarts, from which the Duke of Richmond and Lord Blantyre (Miss Stewart’s 
grandfather) were both descended, is, I believe, the Earl of Galloway. 

N 2 


180 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


time with distant homage, and with drinking pint bumpers in 
honour of her beauty, till he had almost lost the little intellect 
nature had bestowed on him; but what he lost in wit he seems to 
have gained in audacity, for he made the fair lady understand, 
that though reduced for the present to drown his love in wine, he 
was ready to make her a duchess whenever she was willing to elope 
with him. In the mean time, though the King had the power of 
keeping all competitors at a distance, he was not himself more 
avarice. Miss Stewart retained her power by standing most per¬ 
tinaciously on the defensive, without actually driving him to 
despair. When the Queen fell dangerously ill, she was imme¬ 
diately surrounded by the obsequious and rapacious courtiers, and 
regarded as her probable successor : the atrocious advice of the 
Duke of Buckingham on this occasion, has been related in the 
memoir of Queen Catherine. Miss Stewart, on her quarrel with 
Lady Castlemaine, had made a great display of duty to the Queen, 
who treated her with kindness, and seems to have placed some 
confidence in her discretion. While the King pursued her with the 
most undisguised and insulting attention, Miss Stewart certainly 
avenged some of the wrongs of her mistress, and her whole sex, 
by the dexterity with which she contrived to torment her accom¬ 
plished but profligate lover. She stooped at times to very 
equivocal compliances when afraid to lose him ; at another moment 
she would talk of throwing herself into a French convent: and 
her airs and caprices, her alternate fits of hauteur and tenderness, 
so agitated the King, that he sometimes appeared at the council- 
board like a man distracted. He offered titles which were refused, 
and presents—which were accepted; he set about reforming his 
menage d’amour in compliance with her affected scruples and 
pretended jealousy; he promised to give up Lady Castlemaine, 
and to discard his singers and actresses, and other superfluous 
ladies then on his establishment;—in vain! till at a critical 
moment the Chevalier De Grammont stepped in to his majesty’s 
assistance. De Grammont had just received from Paris a certain 
caliche, which he presented to the King. Such a caleclie, so 
light, so elegant in its form, so finished in all its appointments, 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


181 


had never before been seen in England : it excited the admiration 
of the whole court. The Queen, Lady Castlemaine, and Miss 
Stewart, were each eager to be the first to exhibit themselves in 
this wonderful caleche. The preference was given to Miss Stewart, 
—a preference which, it was scandalously insinuated, cost the fair 
lady some diminution, of that immaculate purity upon which she 
had hitherto piqued herself. 

It may be said, in excuse for Miss Stewart, that her situation 
was peculiar and difficult; the King* was armed with a power, 
which, in those days, few thought of resisting* * and either to free 
herself from his pursuit, or anxious to be made a duchess on 
reputable terms, she listened to the addresses of the Duke of Rich¬ 
mond. Love (even by her own confession) had little to do with 
this choice; the duke was merely a good-natured fool, addicted to 
habitual intoxication; and with no one recommendation to a lady’s 
g-race but his high rank, and his near relationship to the royal 
family. 

One evening*, Lady Castlemaine, who kept paid spies to watch 
all the movements of her dangerous rival, discovered that she had 
an appointment with the Duke of Richmond, and instantly in¬ 
formed the King*, with the most insulting* expressions, to whom, 
and for whom, he was sacrificed. Driven by this female fury, 
the King* rushed to the apartment of Miss Stewart: her women 
looked terrified, and denied him access, assuring* him that their 
lady had retired to rest, much indisposed, and unable to see him. 
He pushed them aside, and forced his way rudely to her chamber. 
On entering* abruptly, he found the fair lady reclining* on a couch, 
and certainly neither indisposed nor asleep. The Duke of Rich¬ 
mond was seated at her side. The inexpressible confusion of the 
lovers, thus surprised, can only be imagined ; and the King*, 
unable to restrain his rage, burst into a torrent of threats and 
reproaches, which seemed to terrify the Duke much more than 
they discomposed Miss Stewart. The room in which this scene 
took place overlooked the river ; he cast a glance at the window, 


182 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


then at the King, whose eyes sparkled, and whose frame trem¬ 
bled with unwonted passion; and judging it best not to trust his 
safety within reach of the lion’s paw, he made no reply, but with 
a profound bow, backed out of the apartment, leaving* the lady to 
make her peace as best she might. She, who well knew the cha¬ 
racter of Charles, assumed a high tone on the occasion, insisted 
on her riffht to receive the addresses of the duke in what manner 
and what time she pleased, complained of insult and tyranny, and 
threatened to throw herself into a nunnery abroad. The King- 
left her in anger, and in the utmost agitation. The following day 
the Duke of Richmond was ordered to quit the court; but, not 
being* gifted with the assurance or magnanimity of his mistress, 
or through that best part of wisdom, which some call cowardice 
and some discretion, he had anticipated the royal commands, and 
retired the night before. 

A few days afterwards, Miss Stewart took an opportunity of 
throwing herself at the feet of the Queen her mistress, and very 
pathetically entreated her protection and forgiveness; the good- 
natured Catherine, now subdued to u the quality of her lord,” 
forgave her. She considered, that since she must needs suffer a 
rival, it would be better to trust the gentleness of Miss Stewart, 
than to be outbraved by the insolent termagant, Castlemaine; and 
that by preventing* the flight or marriage of a woman whom her 
husband loved to distraction, she was giving* herself a claim to his 
eternal gratitude; in consequence, she charitably exerted herself 
to bring about a reconciliation between the King* and his coy, 
perverse mistress, and succeeded so well, that for aAvhile all was 
peace and smiles—a hollow peace and most deceitful smiles. One 
cold dark night, in the month of March, 1GG7, Miss Stewart 
found means to steal from her lodging in Whitehall; and joining* 
the Duke of Richmond at a tavern in Westminster, where he had 
horses waiting, she eloped with him into Surrey, and they were 
privately married the next morning by the duke’s chaplain. 

u What dire events from amorous causes spring,” we are not 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


183 


now to learn from tale or history. A catastrophe, which hung* 

upon the caprice of a giddy woman, influenced the destiny of 

three kingdoms. 

© 

The King was transported with rage at a step which seemed to 
set his love and power at defiance: all who were suspected of 
having been privy to the marriage of Miss Stewart with the Duke 
Richmond (among whom were some of the King’s best friends and 
wisest counsellors,) fell under his extreme displeasure. The great 
Lord Clarendon was deprived of the Seals and banished,* and his 
dismissal was followed by those consequences, which paved the 
way for the Revolution. 

Pepys, in his Diary, records a conversation which took place 
soon after her marriage, between the Duchess of Richmond and 
one of the lords of the court, which is very consistent with her 
character and conduct throughout. She said, that u when the 
Duke of Richmond first made love to her, she did ask the Kino- 
and the duke did so likewise; and that the King did not at first 
refuse his consent.” She confessed, u that she was come to that 
pass, as to resolve to have married any gentleman of 1500/. a-year, 
who would have had her in honour, for she could not longer con¬ 
tinue in the court without submitting to the wishes of the King, 
whom she had so long* kept off, though he had liberty more than 
aipv other had, and more than he ought to have had f she said 
that “ she had reflected on the occasion she had given the world 
to think her a bad woman, and that she had no way but to marry, 

* “ The Earl of Clarendon’s son, the Lord Cornbury, was going to her (Miss 
Stewart’s) lodgings, upon some assignation that she had given him about her 
affairs, knowing nothing of her intentions. He met the King in the door, coming 
out, full of fury. And he, suspecting that Lord Cornbury was in the design, 
spoke to him as one in a rage that forgot all decency, and for some time would 
not hear Lord Cornbury speak in his own defence. In the afternoon he heard 
him with more temper, as he himself told me. Yet this made so deep an 
impression, that he resolved to take the Seals from his father. ’—Burnet s History 
of his Own Time, vol. i. p. 354. 


184 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


and leave the court rather in this way of discontent than other¬ 
wise, that the world might see she sought not any thing but her 
honour.”—“ She hopes, though she hath little reason to hope, she 
can please her lord so as to reclaim him, that they may yet live 
comfortably in the country on his estate.”* Evelyn believed her 
to he worth about 6000/. in jewels: among these was a pearl 
necklace, then valued at 1100/., the King’s first present to her : he 
had allowed her, while in the court, 700/. a-year for her clothes; 
but these were trifles, compared to the sums lavished on Lady 
Castlemaine and Lady Portsmouth. There is reason to believe, 
that had Miss Stewart been more complying, she might have 
commanded any thing which it was in the power of the weak 
monarch to bestow. 

But little is known of the Duchess of Richmond after her mar¬ 
riage : she resisted for some time all temptations and entreaties to 
return to the court; but in 1668, she was appointed one of the 
ladies of the Queen’s bedchamber, and was lodged in Somerset 
House, where Catherine then resided. Pepys says, u that the 
apartments allotted to her and the duke were sumptuous, and that 
the King frequently visited her, but merely in courtesy.” About 
two years after her marriage she was attacked by the small-pox, 
from which she recovered with great difficulty. The King* paid 
her much attention during her illness, and even afterwards, when 
the ravages of that cruel disease had so impaired her matchless 
beauty, that she was scarcely to be recognised : one of her brilliant 
eyes was nearly quenched for ever.')' 

In 1672, the Duke of Richmond was appointed ambassador to 
the court of Denmark, and died at Elsinore the same year. His 
duchess did not accompany him abroad; and after his death she 
continued to reside in the court near the person of the Queen, with 
whom she continued a favourite ; and Charles having attached him- 

* Pepys, vol. ii. p. 46. 

t Vide Letter from Rouvignv to Louis XIV., in Dalrymple’s Memoirs. 


THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND. 


185 


self to the Duchess of Portsmouth, La Belle Stewart was no longer 
honoured or dishonoured h}^ his assiduities. She never married 
again after the loss of her husband, nor do we hear any thing more 
of her till her death, which took place in 1702. During' the latter 
part of her life, her time seems to have been divided between cards 
and cats; and in her last will she bequeathed several of her 
favourite cats to different female friends, with legacies for their 
support. The well-known line in Pope’s Moral Essays,— 

“ Die, and endow a college—or a cat!” 
alludes to the will of the Duchess of Richmond. 

Warton, with more good nature than .probability, supposes this 
to have been a delicate way of providing for poor, and probablv 
proud gentlewomen, without making them feel that they owed 
their livelihood to her mere liberality: if this were the only 
scruple, methinks it would have been more generous to have left 
the annuities unburthened with the cats. The bulk of her property 
was left to her nephew, Walter Stewart, commonly called the 
Master of Blantyre, for the purchase of certain estates, to be 
attached to the name and family, and called, in memory of the 
donor, u Lennox’s love to Blantyre.” 

Miss Stewart had a younger sister, Sophia Stewart, married to 
William, third son of the Lord Bulkeley ; she too was celebrated 
for her beauty. 

The engraved portrait is from the Gallery of Beauties at Wind¬ 
sor, and represents the Duchess of Bichmond as Diana. She holds 
a bow in one hand, and with the other supports her dress, as if 
tripping* over the dew. The drapery is of a pale yellow. The 
features are regular, but deficient in expression; and the nose is 
not sufficiently aquiline to ag*ree with other portraits of Miss 
Stewart, and with the minute descriptions of her person which 
have been handed down to us. The landscape in this picture is 
most beautifully painted. 


MRS. LAWSON. 


“ Condamnee a la celebrite, sans pouvoir etre connue. 

De Staee. 


By this title the portrait in the Beauty-room at Windsor has 
always been traditionally known; but, according* to the present 
style, Mrs. Lawson should properly be Miss Lawson, as the lady 
here represented was certainly unmarried.* 

Horace Walpole, Granger, and others, have supposed this 
picture to be that of Miss Lawson, one of the daughters of the 
brave and celebrated Admiral Sir John Lawson, who died in con¬ 
sequence of the wounds he received in the sea-fig'ht of 1665, and 
of whom Lord Clarendon has left us a noble character. 

This opinion, which is unsupported by any proof except the 
name, appears, on examination, very improbable. Sir John Law- 
son was a, man of very low extraction, who had formerly been a 
sliip-boy of Hull, and rose, under Cromwell, to be admiral of the 
fleet. Himself and his whole family had been Puritans and 
Republicans ; and, although upon the Restoration he declared for 
the King, saying it was his duty to defend and fight for his coun- 
try, no matter who governed it, it is not very likely that his family 
should be distinguished at court, where he himself seldom came. 

# In the reign of Charles II., and long afterwards, Mrs. or Mistress was the 
usual appellation of a young unmarried woman. Married women were entitled 
Madam. The word Miss was seldom used but in a very disreputable sense. 





/ 


/ // 

// 


/ 

























































































































































■ 











, 




















MBS. LAWSON. 


187 


His eldest daughter married Richard Norton, Esq., of South wick, 
which was considered so great a match, that to bestow on her a 
portion worthy of it, Sir Jolm impoverished himself and the rest 
of his family.* There is not the slightest reason to suppose that 
this young lady had any claims to he included in a series of Court 
Beauties. 

The Mrs. Lawson of the Windsor Gallery, must have been one 
of the five daughters of Sir John Lawson, a Roman Catholic 
baronet, of Brough, in Yorkshire. He married Catherine Howard, 
a daughter of the Earl of Carlisle, whose younger brother, Thomas 
Howard,f became the second husband of Mary Villiers, Duchess 
of Richmond, and sister of the Duke of Buckingham. Thus, a 
woman of high rank and intriguing spirit, connected by her first 
marriage with the blood royal, and the sister of the reigning 
favourite, became the aunt of the five Miss Lawsons. 

There is reason to believe, from various scattered notices, that 
this Duchess of Richmond introduced one of her nieces at court, 
with a view of captivating the easy affections of Charles, and coun¬ 
teracting, through her influence, the ascendancy of the Duchess of 
Portsmouth. One part of this plan appears to have succeeded, for 
Miss Lawson became the object of the King’s admiration, whose 
attentions to her were so public, that they are frequently alluded 
to, and the Portsmouth faction was thrown into some consterna¬ 
tion. 

But it also appears, that on this occasion Charles met with very 
unusual resistance, and that Miss Lawson was not easily won,—if, 
indeed, she was won at all, of which there is no existing proof. 
There is a coarse political satire of that time, (about 1674) quoted 
by Sir William Musgrave, in which all the celebrated beauties of 
the court are represented as contending for the post of Maitresse 

* See Clarendon’s History, and Campbell’s Lives of the Admirals. 

t He fought a duel with the invincible Jermyn, on account of that “ angel- 
devil” Lady Shrewsbury. 


188 


MRS. LAWSON. 


en titre. Miss Lawson is mentioned among' the rest; hut she is 
rejected, by reason of her a too g’reat modesty.” There are other 
contemporary songs, epigrams, satires, worthless in themselves, 
where Miss Lawson’s name occurs. She is never alluded to but 
as one hitherto innocent, and exposed to dang'er from the intrig’ues 
of her aunt, and the profligate pursuit of the King*. The following' 
passage will serve as a specimen: 

“ Tet, Lawson, thou whose arbitrary sway, 

Our King must, more than we do him, obey, 

Who shortly shall of easy Charles’s breast, 

Aud of his empire, be at once possest; 

Though it indeed appear a glorious thing 
To command power and to enslave a King; 

Yet, ere the false appearance has betray’d 
A soft, believing, unexperienced maid, 

Ah ! yet consider, ere it be too late, 

How near you stand upon the brink of fate.”* 


Sir William Musgrave adds, u that the five sisters became nuns 
at York,” and this is all that can be discovered concerning the 
original of this portrait. If we may believe in the existence of 
innocence, which even slander appears to have respected, and satire 
itself to have compassionated; and if we can suppose it possible 
that such innocence could be maintained in a corrupt court, sur¬ 
rounded not only by temptations, but by the most villanous 
snares, we ought to deem Miss Lawson acquitted, notwithstanding' 
the evil society in which she appears. 

The picture, which is by Wissing, is not in itself eminently lovely 
or interesting; but, as one of the Windsor Beauties, it could not 
well have been omitted in this collection. It is very beautifully 
painted; and in the face there is an expression of mildness and 
goodness, which agrees with the few particulars which have been 
collected relative to that Mrs. Lawson, whom I suppose to have 
been the subject of the portrait. 

* Musgrave’s Biographical Adversaria, MS. No. 5723, British Museum. 














THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


“ Extremely mad the man I surely deem, 

That weens with watch and hard restraint to stay 
A woman’s will, that is disposed to go astray. 

It is not iron bands, nor hundred eyes, 

Nor brazen walls, nor many wakeful spies, 

That can withhold her wilful, wandering feet; 

But fast good will and gentle courtesies.” 

Spenser. 


Lady Elizabeth Butler, eldest daughter of the Duke and 
Duchess of Ormond, and sister of the gallant and accomplished 
Lord Ossory, was born at Kilkenny, on the 29th of June, 1040. 
Her birth had nearly cost the life of her excellent mother, who had 
scarcely recovered from the effects of a long and dangerous con¬ 
finement, when the civil wars broke out: the events which fol¬ 
lowed, and which so deeply involved in their consequences the 
happiness and fortunes of the Ormond family, need not he related 
here. The childhood of Lady Elizabeth was passed in scenes of 
tumult and constant vicissitude, but always under the care and 
protection of her mother • at length, her parents were driven from 
their country and obliged to seek a refuge upon the Continent, 
where the duchess resided for some time with her young family, 
principally at Caen in Normandy. The marriage between Lady 
Elizabeth Butler and the young Earl of Chesterfield was arranged 
at the Hague in 1659, and was to have taken place at the same 
time with that of her brother, Lord Ossory; but it appears that 




190 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTEliFIELD. 


the duchess just at that time was obliged to give up the portion 
intended for her daughter, to aid the King in his necessities: the 
exact date of the marriage is uncertain, but it was probably 
solemnized at the Hague in the beginning of the year 1GG0. 

Lady Elizabeth was then about nineteen, and the young earl in 
his twenty-fifth year : a marriage so suitable in age, in rank, and 
in personal accomplishments, was rendered miserable, by circum¬ 
stances over which neither had any control. 

Lord Chesterfield had previously married Lady Anne Percy, 
the daughter of Algernon, Earl of Northumberland: she died 
very young in 1G54, leaving him a widower at the age of twenty. 
He afterwards travelled, and spent two years in the various courts 
of Italy; whence he returned in 1659, and received the hand of 
Lady Elizabeth, according to a family compact between his 
mother, the Countess of Chesterfield, and the Duke of Ormond. 
He is described by Hamilton as a handsome man, without any 
advantages of figure, as he was neither tall nor graceful; but the 
beauty of his head and features compensated for other deficiencies. 
He was accomplished and intelligent, skilled in riding, fencing, 
dancing, and in all the exercises then thought necessary to form a 
complete gentleman; he was courteous to his inferiors, but haughty 
and ceremonious in the society of his equals. A temper, naturally 
inclined to jealousy and suspicion, had not been amended by a 
long residence in Italy: the profligacy which there prevailed 
universally, had subverted his own principles, and implanted in his 
mind certain prejudices and opinions, very derogatory to women in 
general. His young bride, on the contrary, had been educated 
in the bosom of domestic happiness; she came to him fresh from 
the tuition and example of an amiable and dignified mother, and 
she appears at first to have regarded her husband with a timid and 
fond admiration, which a little attention and devotion on his part, 
would have converted into an attachment for life. Whether he 
had left some Italian love beyond the Alps, or had already begun 
to devote himself to Lady Castlemaine, whose first and most 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


101 


favoured lover lie is said to have been, cannot now be known. It 
is only certain, that he met the affection of his young- and charming- 
wife with a negligent, frig-id indifference, which astonished, pained, 
and humiliated her : finding-, however, that all her tenderness was 
lavished in vain, and that her attempts to win him from a rival 
rather increased than diminished his aversion, mingled pique and 
disgust seem to have succeeded to her first affection and admiration, 
and their conjugal arrangements were in this melancholy and 
unsettled state when the Restoration took place, and Lady Ches¬ 
terfield accompanied her husband and her family to England. 

The Duchess of Ormond was not an indifferent spectator of her 
daughter’s domestic misery. It appears, from a very respectful 
and submissive letter from the earl to his mother-in-law, that she 
had interfered kindly but discreetly, with a hope of healing all 
disquiet. To reconcile himself with his wife’s parents, Lord Ches¬ 
terfield took her to Ireland in 1062 ; they spent three months at 
Kilkenny Castle, and there Lady Chesterfield witnessed the mar¬ 
riage of her sister, Lady Mary Butler, with Lord Cavendish, 
afterwards the first Duke of Devonshire. 

The King- hated Chesterfield, on account of the favour with 
which Lady Castlemaine had regarded him; but the earl had 
claims on the royal attention which could not be overlooked. On 
the arrival of Catherine of Braganza, he was created chamberlain 
of her household, and in virtue of his office was lodged in White¬ 
hall. Thus thrown into the very midst of a gay court, Lady 
Chesterfield, from a neglected wife, living in privacy, and even 
poverty, became suddenly a reigning beauty: captivating* and 
piquante, rather than regularly handsome, there was something in 
the archness and brilliance of her wit, in the elegance of her small, 
but perfect fig*ure, and in the exquisite neatness ot her person and 
dress, which distinguished her from the half-attired, languishing, 
flaunting- beauties around her. Only Miss Hamilton rivalled her 
in vivacity and mental acquirements, and only Miss Stewart 
surpassed her in charms. 


192 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


She was immediately surrounded with professed adorers; and 
strange to tell, one of the first who sighed for her in vain was her 
own husband. 

Lord Chesterfield found his charming- wife universally admired, 
while the vulg-arity and arrog’ance of Lady Castlemaine became 
every day more apparent and more intolerable from the force of 
contrast: he beg-an to wonder, and with reason, at his own blind¬ 
ness and indifference to so many charms, and his passion at leng-th 
rose to such a heig-ht, that, casting- aside the fear of ridicule, he 
endeavoured to convince her, by the most public attentions, that 
his feeling-s towards her were entirely chang-ed. Unfortunately, 
it was now too late: the heart he had wounded, chilled, and 
rejected, either could not, or would not be recalled; he found 
himself slig'hted in his turn, and treated with the most provoking 
and the most determined coldness. A spirit of coquetry, a dan- 
g-erous love of general admiration, and all the intoxication of 
gratified vanity, now filled that bosom which had come to him pure, 
warm, and innocent, and which he had once occupied to exclusion 
of almost every other thought and feeling-: the punishment was 
cruel, but scarce more than he deserved. Finding- that all his 
advances were repelled, he was seized with jealousy and rage; he 
felt assured that a transition so complete, from extreme tenderness 
and trembling solicitude to the most perfect indifference, could 
only be caused by some favoured lover, and his suspicions fixed at 
once on the Duke of York,—not without apparent reason, for the 
duke’s admiration of his wife had been very unequivocally dis¬ 
played. But a more dangerous rival, wholly unsuspected, existed 
in George Hamilton, the younger brother of Miss Hamilton, and 
first-cousin to Lady Chesterfield. 

Hamilton, either out of contradiction, or etourderie, had been 
amusing- himself and alarming all his friends, by offering his 
assiduities to Lady Castlemaine, then in the height of her favour 
and her power. But Lady Chesterfield, having in a manner 
opposed herself with peculiar and feminine spite to the woman who 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


193 


had withdrawn her husband’s affections from her in the first year 
of her marriage, and whom she every way detested, was not 
content with the legitimate triumph of winning back her husband 
from her trammels, she resolved to deprive Lady Castlemaine of 
her new admirer, and to add George Hamilton to her own train of 
adorers. This laudable resolve was not very difficult to execute, 
for Hamilton was the most inflammable of men; he was only u le 
petit cousin,” and she had constant opportunities of meeting him, 
either in the society of his sister, or at the apartments of his aunt, 
the Duchess of Ormond. He could not see with impunity one of 
the loveliest women of the time; he began to waver in his alle¬ 
giance to Lady Castlemaine, and while he yet hesitated, one or 
two encouraging glances from the blue eyes of Lady Chesterfield 
brought him at once to her feet. 

We should not forget, while reading De Grammont’s Memoirs, 
that they were written by the brother of George Hamilton, who 
considered himself as a betrayed and injured lover, and whose 

Chesterfield’s conduct was likely to be coloured 
by his own exasperated feeling's : notwithstanding* the conspicuous 
figure she makes in those Memoirs, and the malicious gaiety with 
which her coquetry and her indiscretion are exposed, I can find no 
direct accusation against her virtue either there or elsewhere. 
Pepys, who was likely to hear all the scandal of the court, men¬ 
tions her ever with respect, as a that most virtuous lady }*et he 
never speaks of her husband without some slighting expression or 
discreditable allusion. In the present case, Lord Chesterfield had 
placed himself beyond the pale of sympathy; his former treatment 
of his wife was so well known at court, that his jealous airs exposed 
him to universal ridicule. 

At this time it happened that the guitar-player Francisco, 
(mentioned in the Introduction,) had rendered that instrument so 
much the fashion, that all the beauties and courtiers affected to 


account of Lady 


* Pepys’ Diary, vol. i. p. 177—194. 

0 


194 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


cultivate it with enthusiasm; and in the midst of this universal 
raclerie , Lad}^ Chesterfield was as proud of possessing- the finest 
g'uitar in England, as her brother, Lord Arran, of being- con¬ 
fessedly the best player next to Francisco himself. The Guitarist 
had composed a certain sarabande, which the King- greatly 
admired and patronised ; and very soon nothing- but this sarabande 
was heard at court. The Duke of York wished to learn it from 
Lord Arran; and he, being- resolved to g’ive the sarabande every 
possible advantage, invited the duke to accompany him to his 
sister’s apartments, that he might hear it performed on this won¬ 
derful guitar, which was the envy of all the fair amateur players 
in the court. 

In all this there was nothing extraordinary; but Lord Chester¬ 
field, possessed by jealousy and suspicion, saw in this rendezvous 
nothing less than a scheme to accomplish his dishonour. While 
the two musicians were practising the sarabande, and Lady Ches¬ 
terfield did the honours of her celebrated guitar, her husband sat 
watching the trio with “jealous leer malign,” and internally 
resolvino- that nothing* should induce him to leave the room; but 
in the midst of these agreeable reflections, an order arrived from 
the Queen to attend her majesty immediately in his quality of Lord 
Chamberlain, for the purpose of introducing the Muscovite ambassa¬ 
dors to her presence. The unhappy earl, execrating in his secret 
soul all guitars, ambassadors, and officious brothers-in-law, was 
under the necessity of obeying the royal commands, and had not 
been ten minutes in the Queen’s presence-chamber, when, to his 
confusion and dismay, he beheld the Earl of Arran standing- 
opposite to him, and unaccompanied by the Duke of York. The 
moment he was released, he hastened home, and without waiting 
for any explanation, gave way at once to all the transports of 
jealous rage. The poor guitar was the first victim of his fury; it 
was broken into ten thousand pieces. After this exploit, the first 
person he met on leaving his house was George Hamilton, upon 
whom his suspicions had never rested for a moment; in fact, it 
had been Hamilton’s study to persuade him that all his assiduities 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


195 


were directed to Lady Castlemaine. To him, therefore, lie confided 
liis griefs ; exaggerating- the coquetry of his wife, the attentions of 
the duke, and the intermeddling of Lord Arran. He related at 
length the curious scene of the has verts , when the fair Stewart, in 
presence of the whole court, suffered her beautiful ankle to be pro¬ 
duced, in emulation of that of Lady Chesterfield : while the Duke 
of York stood aloof, refusing to admire, and declaring, with many 
a gallant oath, that there was u point de saint, sans les has verts.” 
Now, as Lady Chesterfield had introduced this fashion, her husband 
conceived that the duke’s speech could admit of but one interpreta¬ 
tion :—Othello’s handkerchief was not more conclusive. Hamilton 
began to think so too, and to take a more than friendly interest in 
the subject; and Chesterfield, imputing his indignation to a disin¬ 
terested sympathy with his own wrongs, continued to pour his 
complaints into his ear, till Hamilton was driven to desperation. 
He began to suspect that Lady Chesterfield was merely trifling* 
with him,—a supposition which, considering her character, was 
not improbable; and he was convinced that the Duke of York was 
a preferred lover, which assuredly was not a necessary consequence. 
In a fit of angry impatience, he advised Lord Chesterfield to carry 
his wife off to his country-seat. The poor countess was immedi¬ 
ately conveyed down to Bretby by her infuriated husband, and 
Hamilton for awhile triumphed in his vengeance.* 

* This story, which is related at length in the Memoirs of De Grammont with 
infinite grace and liveliness, but in a tone very unfavourable to Lady Chesterfield, 
is thus, with more brevity, and probably with more truth, narrated by honest 
Mr. Pepys, in his Diary. “ This day, by Dr. Clarke, I was told the occasion of 
my Lord Chesterfield’s going and taking his lady (my Lord Ormond’s daughter) 
from court. It seems he not only hath been jealous of the Duke of Yox-k, but 
did find them two talking together, though there were others in the room, and 
the lady, by all opinions, a most good, virtuous woman. He the next day (of 
which the duke was warned by somebody that saw the passion my Lord Chester¬ 
field was in the night before) went and told the duke how much he did apprehend 
himself wronged, in his picking out his lady in the whole court to be the subject 
of his dishonour; which the duke did answer with great calmness, not seeming to 
understand the reason of complaint; and that was all that passed: but my lord 
did presently pack his lady into the country in Derbyshire, near the Peake; 

o 2 


190 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


The whole of the circumstances soon became public ; the lady 
was generally pitied ; and none believed that her husband had any 
just cause for the tyranny he had exercised on this occasion. Dor¬ 
set, Etheredge, Bochester, and all the rhyming wits of the court, 
pursued Lord Chesterfield with showers of epigrams. The famous 
sarabande, which had been the first occasion of this terrible fracas, 
was set by the Chevalier de Grammont to new words, bitterly 
reflecting on the conduct of this u mari loup-garou,” and soon the 
whole court had them by heart; they were sung' universally, and, 
(as Count Hamilton gravely adds,) “toutes les dames lesvoulurent 
avoir pour les apprendre a leurs enfants.” 

Lady Chesterfield never again appeared at court; and learning 
to whom she was really indebted for the severity exercised towards 
her (the justice of which she was far from admitting,) she vowed 
vengeance against George Hamilton, and forthwith proceeded to 
execute her purpose with all the cunning of an intriguante , and 
all a woman’s wit and wilfulness. She penned a long* and artful 
letter to Hamilton, gave him a most eloquent and heart-rending' 
description of her miserable state, of the melancholy prison, sur¬ 
rounded by rocks, precipices, and morasses, in which she was 
confined * of the ruthless tyranny of her husband, now her g’aoler, 
and of her own repentance. She informed him that the earl was 
under the necessity of leaving’ home for a week, and conjured him 
to seize that opportunity to visit her, and listen to her justification. 
Hamilton, already devoured by regrets for her absence, and 
remorse for his own share in causing it, received this insidious letter 
with transport, and fell at once into the snare. He immediately 
mounted his horse, and rode post down to Bretby. It was towards 
the close of a severe winter, and a hard frost prevailed. He 
passed a whole night under the windows of Bretby Hall, almost 
congealed with cold, without receiving the least sign of recognition 
or compassion. On returning to the little village inn where he was 


which is become a proverb at court, to send a man’s wife to the Peake when she 
Texes him.”—p. 194. 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


197 


lodged incognito, he learned that Lord Chesterfield was not absent 
—nor likely to be so ; and on looking round him he beheld, instead 
of a prison, a splendid palace; and instead of a horrible solitude, 
a magnificent and cultivated domain, which, till a recent possessor 
levelled its fine woods, was considered one of the most beautiful 
seats in England. He perceived how grossly he had been beguiled, 
and soon discovered that he was only the propitiatory victim in the 
reconciliation which had just taken place between the countess and 
her husband. On his return to London he would willingly have 
suppressed the story of this luckless expedition; but Lady Chester¬ 
field was not inclined to make a mystery of the revenge she had 
taken on her rash and too officious lover : the story reached the 
King’s ears, and he insisted upon learning the details from Hamil¬ 
ton himself, who was called upon to relate his own ridiculous 
adventure in presence of the whole court; so that the lady’s 
vengeance was in every respect complete, and, perhaps, not 
unmerited. 

Lady Chesterfield’s retirement (or banishment) took place in 
1662; about a year afterwards she gave birth to a daughter, and 
thenceforward her time was spent entirely at Bretby, if not happily, 
at least irreproachably. She died in 1665, before she had 
completed her twenty-fifth year. Her infant daughter, Lady 
Elizabeth Stanhope, was educated by her grandmother, the excel¬ 
lent Duchess of Ormond, and afterwards married John Lyon, 
fourth Earl of Strathmore. 

After the premature death of his beautiful and unhappy wife, 
Lord Chesterfield married Lady Elizabeth Dormer, and died in 
1713, at the age of eighty. 

There is a tradition relating to the death of Lady Chesterfield, 
which cannot be passed without remark, as it is to be met with in 
many works, and is even alluded to by Horace Walpole. It is 
said that her husband, having caused her to take the sacrament 
upon her innocence respecting any intimacy with the Duke of 


198 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


York, bribed his chaplain to put poison into the sacramental cup, 
and that she died in consequence. This horrible accusation rests 
upon no proof whatever; it is only certain that it was current 
during* the life of the earl, and even believed by some of his own 
family. Lord Chesterfield’s son by his third wife, married Lady 
Gertrude Saville, daughter of the Marquis of Halifax. The 
marquis and the old Earl of Chesterfield quarrelled, and the 
latter obliged Lord Stanhope to bring* his wife to Lichfield, breaking* 
off all intercourse between the families. Lady Stanhope had 
always on her toilette her father’s work, u Advice to a Daughter.” 
Her father-in-law took it up one day, and wrote on the title-page, 
a Labour in vain.” On her side the lady, not to be outdone in 
impertinence, made her servant, out of livery, carry in his pocket 
a bottle of wine, another of water, and a gold cup ; and whenever 
she dined or supped in company with her father-in-law, either at 
home or abroad, she never would drink but of those liquors from 
her servant’s hand. It was a hint to the earl and the company 
present, that the crime which his lordship was suspected of having 
perpetrated, by a sacred beverage, was full in the recollection of 
his daughter-in-law. The most surprising part of the story is, 
that the old earl endured this. 

In the correspondence of this Earl of Chesterfield recently pub¬ 
lished, there are two letters to the countess in a tone more polite 
and sententious than affectionate. It appears certain that he never 
succeeded in winning back her tenderness ; and he has recorded 
her death in his memorandum-book, without a single remark or 
expression of regret. 

The portrait is engraved, for the first time, after the beautiful 
picture by Lely, in the possession of Mr. Fountaine, of Narford. 
It is the same which is mentioned by Granger, and which was 
copied in crayons for Horace IValpole. Its authenticity is beyond 
a doubt. 



THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


199 


[The following* letter was written by the Dnke of Ormond to his 
sister the Countess of Clancarty, on occasion of the death of his 
daughter Lady Chesterfield. 


“Moore Park, July 22, 1G65. 

u My dear Sister, 

u Nothing- could give me greater assistance against the 
increase of misfortune by the death of my daughter Chesterfield, 
than to find you bear your affliction with so much constancy. It is 
certain that as we are born to die, that the longer we live, the more 
of these trials we must be subject to. The separation of friends 
and relations has been, and must be so frequent, that the expressions 
of consolating* and compassionating are a road as much beaten as 
that of death, in which all mankind are appointed to travel. And 
as on other ways, so on that, some go faster than others ; but he 
that goes slowest is sure to come to his journey’s end. God of his 
mercy prepare us for, and prepare for us, a good reception. 

u The letters which should have been sent, I now send you; if 
there be any thing else that may add comfort to you within my 
power, it will as certainly arrive to you, when it is known to, 

My dearest Sister, 

Your most affectionate Brother and Servant, 

Ormonde.” 

The following letter from Elizabeth Lady Chesterfield, which 
may be either the earl’s second or third wife, preserved in the 
British Museum, contains an allusion to the banishment of our 
heroine to the Peake. It is addressed to u Mrs. Coollpeper, at her 
house next dore to the Arche in Lincons inne feilds, London. 

“ Nov. 9 . 

u Deare Mrs. Coollpeper, 

“My women, as allsoe your letters, doe me the favour to 
tell me I am so happie to be in your thoughts, which I am 
extreme proud of, and I must still beg the continuence of it, and 


200 


THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD. 


that I may sometimes at } T our best lea sure heare from you, } T ou 
will be obliging* if you please to descant me with a little news 
from your world. You know Darby slier is a dull place, and needs 
some thing’ to make it pleasint. I will assure you I know nothing’ 
will please me better than bearing* from you, writ whatever you 
will. I suppose my Lady Dencell’s discretion will lett her be a 
little decent this winter. Pray God she be not condemnd to 
Darbysher at last for ever, as sume body was about ten or twelf 
yeare agoe, # for that pockie gallant’s mistress have that ill for 
them if they doe not behave themselves wisely, they are packed out 
of their heaven London. I am g'lad to heare my Lady Freschwell 
is coming- to towne, because pore Moll may have somebody to 
hang- upon besids y e weake La. Northumberland. I am oblig-ed 
to you for wishing* me at London this winter, though I shall be 
more desirous of it next, for now theare are none of being* theare 
except your good selfe. I know not whether the Grand Passer 
is a lover of me or noe now, haveing not sine him a long time, I 
thinke it is no great mater whether he be or noe, if I am not hated 
by you, I will be soe contented with that good fortten, that noe 
other things shall trouble 

Your affect, humble servant, 

E. Chesterfield. 

a Pray pardon a thoussand blotts here, for I am so neare my 
time that I am ill at ease, and cannot mend my faults now.” 

Macky observes of Philip Stanhope, Earl of Chesterfield, that 
u he was very subtle and cunning, never entered into the measures 
of King William, nor ever did make any great appearance in any 
other reign.” On which Dean Swift says, u If it be old Chester¬ 
field, I have heard he was the greatest knave in England.”— Ed.] 

* There is no date to this letter, and by the words ten or twelf yeare agoe, it 
may probably be written by the Earl of Chesterfield’s third wife, Lady Elizabeth 
Dormer, eldest daughter and co-heiress to Charles Earl of Caernarvon. She died 
in 1G79. 



























THE COUNTESS OE ROCHESTER. 


“ Such her beauty, as no arts 

Have enrich’d with borrow’d grace ; 

Her high birth no pride imparts, 

For she blushes in her place. 

Folly boasts a glorious blood;— 

She is noblest, being good.” 

Habington. 


Lady Henrietta Boyle, Countess of Rochester, was the 
youngest daughter of Richard second Earl of Cork, and first Earl 
of Burlington. Her mother was the Lady Elizabeth, sole daugh¬ 
ter and heiress of Henry Clifford, Earl of Cumberland. Thus she 
was the grand-daughter of that extraordinary man known in 
history as the great Earl of Cork, who went to Ireland a needy 
adventurer in the reign of Elizabeth, and lived to see himself and 
five of his sons peers of England or of Ireland : by the mother’s 
side she was descended from one of the proudest, most illustrious, 
and most powerful families among’ the old feudal aristocracy of 
England,—the Cliffords of Cumberland. 

The Earl of Burlington, (for he was generally distinguished by 
his English title,) had been a firm Loyalist $ and at the Restora¬ 
tion, to which he mainly contributed, he found himself high in 
favour at court, to which his four daughters were immediately 
introduced. The eldest became Countess of Thanet, the second 
married the celebrated Earl of Roscommon, the third became the 




THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


200 

w ife of Lord Hinchinbroke, afterwards Earl of Sandwich. The 
youngest. who was also the most beautiful, was sought in marriage 
bv Laurence Hyde, the second son of Lord Chancellor Clarendon. 

The marriage of Anne Hyde with the Duke of York, the power 
and talents of the great Chancellor, then at the height of favour, 
gave to the whole family of the Hydes a degree of importance and 
influence at court, which was increased by the connexions they 
formed with the first and the oldest nobility; for who would have 
rejected an alliance which had not been disdained by the first 
prince of the blood ? Henry Hyde, the eldest son of the Chan¬ 
cellor, and afterwards Lord Combury, had fixed his affections on 
Theodosia Capel, the daughter of Arthur Lord Capel, and she 
became the a Madame Hvde” of De Grammont’s Memoirs. Mrs. 

a/ 

Hvde was naturally witty and lively, but from a strange sort of 
affectation, she fancied she should succeed better as a lausnishino* 

J C O 

than as a sparkling beauty : accordingly she changed her airy 
and swimming 2 Tace into a mine-ins* °*ait, modulated her voice to 
the most approved drawl, and veiled her brilliant eyes so success¬ 
fully, that the sleepy, elongated eyelid thenceforth became the 
fashion of the court. Her sister-in-law, Lady Henrietta Hyde, 
was bv nature what Mrs. Hvde became bv fashion and affecta- 

** m mi 

tion: she was a blonde of the most delicate description, with a 
profusion of fair hair, and a complexion transparently pink and 
white, like the Alpine berry shining through the new-fallen snow: 
her manners were as gentle and blameless as her face was beauti- 

c 

ful. She wa s married to Laurence Hvde about the year 1663, 

V 1/ / 

and the utter dissimilarity between herself and her husband in 
character and temper, was, perhaps, the foundation of their domes¬ 
tic happiness. 

Laurence Hyde was a man of great natural talent, improved by 
a careful education under the eye of his father, who had early 
initiated him into business, and intended him for the diplomatic 
service. He was handsome, with a good figure, and a dark com¬ 
plexion : his temper was naturally violent, but while he governed 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


203 


his family imperiously, he seems to have possessed the power of 
inspiring* those around him with love as well as fear. u I never 
knew a man/’ says Lord Dartmouth,* a who was so soon put into 
a passion, that was so long* before he could bring* himself out of it, 
in which he would say thing’s that were never forg*ot by any body 
but himself. He therefore had always more enemies than he 
thought, though he had as many professedly so as any man of his 
time.” It might have been supposed that this warmth of temper, 
in which there was too much heat to be false,f and the incumbrance 
of a beautiful wife, who was simple enough to be content with the 
admiration of her husband, and to nurse her own children, were ill 
calculated to raise the fortunes of a man in such a court as that of 
Charles the Second; but polished manners, great sagacity in 
affairs, and his near relationship to the throne during three suc¬ 
cessive reigns, served Lord Rochester in lieu of more complying* 
virtues, and a more accommodating wife. Notwithstanding the 
impeachment, disgrace, and exile of his illustrious father, which 
followed within a few years after his marriage with Lady 
Henrietta, we find Laurence Hyde, supported by his own talents 
and the friendship of the Duke of York, running a prosperous 
career. He was ambassador to John Sobieski, King* of Poland in 
1676, and afterwards envoy to Holland ; he was First Lord of the 
Treasury in 1679, and in 1681 he was created a peer by the title 
of Viscount Hyde of Kenilworth; and in 1683, the earldom of 
Rochester, becoming extinct in the Wilmot family,J was conferred 
upon him. On the accession of James the Second he received the 
staff of High Treasurer, and was for some time considered as the 
chief favourite of the King*, and at the head of all affairs. 

It is perhaps the highest eulogium that could be pronounced on 
the character and conduct of his fair, gentle-looking*, and really 
amiable wife, that while her husband was treading the steep and 
tortuous paths of court diplomacy, rising to rank and honours, and 

* In a note upon Burnet’s History. t Burnet s History. 

x By the death of John Wilmot, only son of the famous, or rather notorious, 
Earl of Rochester. 


204 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER 


filling* the liig-liest offices in the state, we do not even hear of her, 
except in her domestic relations. In the recent publication of the 
Clarendon Papers,* Lady Rochester is seldom mentioned: but 
from the manner in which she is alluded to, we may infer, without 
danger of being* mistaken, that she was the excellent and sub¬ 
missive wife of an impatient and despotic husband; that she lived 
in the utmost harmony with her children and her relatives; that 
she frequented the court but little; that, without possessing* any 
striking* qualities, she inspired those who were allied to her with 
equal respect and affection; and that her health was so delicate 
and precarious, as to be a subject of constant solicitude to those 
who loved her.| 

This is all we can g*ather from contemporary authorities. It 
should seem that her days flowed along* in one even course of 
unpretending duties and blameless pleasures; duties such as her 
sex and station prescribed, pleasures such as her rank and fortune 
permitted,—interrupted and clouded by such cares and infirmities 
as are the common lot of mortality. This description of Lady 
Rochester may appear a little insipid after the piquante adventures 
of a Cleveland and a Chesterfield, and others of her more brilliant 
and interesting* contemporaries; yet there is in its repose and 
innocence something that not only refreshes, but sweetens the 
imagination. As in a garden, where peonies, and pinks, and 
carnations, and tall lilies, 

“ And canker blooms, with full as deep a die, 

As the perfumed tincture of the roses,” 

flaunt to the eye and allure the sense, should we suddenly find a 

* The Correspondence of Henry Hyde, Earl of Clarendon, and his brother 
Laurence Hyde, Earl of Rochester, edited from the original MSS. 

t Thus, to give one instance from a letter of Lord Clarendon to his brother 
Lord Rochester: “ G-od Almighty preverve you and my sister, and all yours. I 
am very much afraid lest this change should make impression on my sister’s 
tender health; but she has seen such variety of changes in our poor family, that 
I doubt not her ■wisdom and resolution, if her strength do not fail her.”—Yol. ii. 
p. 133. 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


20-5 


jasmine trailing* its light tendrils and luxuriant foliage round a 
lordly elm, with what delight should we appropriate its starry, 
unsullied blossoms, and place them in our bosom ! 

During* the first years of her marriage, Lady Rochester became 
the mother of two sons and four daughters; of these, her eldest 
daughter, Lady Anne Hyde, was by far the most interesting’, and 
appears to have been the favourite of her father and mother. In 
1082, they married her to the young Earl of Ossory, the grandson 
of the great. Duke of Ormond. Very early marriages were then 
customary: Lord Ossory was not more than nineteen, his bride 
not quite fifteen, when they were united. She was beautiful, 
innocent, and affectionate,* but unhappily inherited her mother’s 
delicacy of constitution ; we find her praised and admired for her 
early wit, sense, and vivacity, nor is it any argument ag’ainst the 
truth of this praise, that she should be subject to superstitious 
terrors, and a believer in dreams and divinations, in days when 
philosophers studied alchymy and astrology. Ladv Ossory was 
married too young’, and her sensitive, imaginative disposition 
seems to have preyed on her health. She died from the con¬ 
sequences of a second and premature confinement, at the age of 
eighteen, f 

* In the Clarendon Correspondence are two short letters, which Lady Ossory 
addressed to her father, about two years after her marriage. Her father, it 
seems, had written to her with some asperity,—perhaps under the influence of 
one of those moods of temper to which he was subject; and the earnest tenderness 
and humility with which she deprecates his anger, and professes her entire 
obedience, are very touching : they give us a high idea of the parental power as 
it was exercised in those days. 

t Her death took place at Dublin Castle, January 25, 1685. Some fancies 
might possibly contribute to this calamity; for the young lady was impressed 
with the common superstitious notion, as to thirteen people sitting at table. A 
short time previous to her death, Dr. John Hough, (afterwards Bishop of Wor¬ 
cester,) was going to sit down, when, perceiving that he made the thirteenth, he 
stopped short and declined taking his place. She immediately guessed at his 
reason, and said, “ Sit down, Doctor, it is now too late ; it is the same thing, if you 
sit or go away.” He believed that the circumstance affected her, as she was in 
very indifferent health, and had been subject for some time to hysterical fainting 


200 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


To die youngs innocent; and beloved; is not a misfortune; it is 
to die half an ang*el:— 

“ Our great good parts put wings unto our souls 
That waft them up to Heaven.” 


The old Duke of Ormond lamented her honestly and feelingdy '* 
her young* husband more acutely; but he was soon consoled.')' The 
blow fell heaviest upon her parents $ — it seems to have struck her 
poor mother to the earth. Among* the papers of Lord Rochester; 
one was found containing* meditations on the anniversary of his 
daug-hter’s death : on recalling* his own sensations; he dwells with 
a kind of painful astonishment on the remembrance that; during* a 
whole week which elapsed between the death of Lady Ossory and 
the arrival; “by reports; by messeng*ers; by condoling* friends; of 
the dreadful sound of that shot; which was bred a week before — 
during* this interval he had been occupied in the cares; business; 
and pleasures of life; and no internal voice had whispered to him 
or to the mother; that she ; the beloved one, who had derived her 

fits. The poor lady’s imagination seems to have been peculiarly susceptible of 
such impressions, for another story is related, that may perhaps have accelerated 
the fatal event. Upon the death of the Countess of Kildare, Lady Ossory, being 
then only seventeen, dreamed that some one came and knocked at her chamber- 
door ; and that calling to her servant to see who was there, and nobody answering, 
she went to the door herself, and opening it, saw a lady muffled up in a hood, 
who drawing it aside, she saw it was the Lady Kildare. Upon this she cried out, 
“Sister, is it you P what makes you come in this manner?”—“Don’t be fright¬ 
ened,” replied she, “for I come on a very serious affair ; and it is to tell you that 
you will die very soon.” Such was her dream as she related it herself to Dr. 
Hough. 

# The Duke of Ormond, in a letter to Sir R. Southwell, says, “ I was in great 
perplexity for the sickness of the young lady I brought a stranger with me into 
this country, which it hath pleased God to put an end to in her death. I am not 
courtier, that is dissembler enough, to equal hers with other losses I have sus¬ 
tained of the like kind; but I assure you, her kindness and observance of me, 
and her conduct in general, hath gained very much upon my affections, and pro¬ 
mised so much satisfaction in her, that I am extremely sensible of her loss.” 

t Lord Ossory, about a year after the death of his-first wife, married Lady 
Mary Somerset.— Vide Memoir of Lady Ossory, p. 134. 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER, 


207 


being* from them, who was, as it were, a part of their very exist¬ 
ence, lay senseless and dead, and the life that was the joy of their’s 
had departed from the world in which they breathed, insensible, 
unconscious of the stroke. How many have felt this before and 
since ! u It pleased God,” says the bereaved father, u to take her 
away, as it migtit be on this day, and I lived on, almost a week 
longer, deceived in my vain expectations that I should hear better 
of her, and that the worst was past; till here comes the dismal 
news, a week after the blow was given ! a week’s time I had spent, 
after her lying cold and breathless, in the ordinary exercises of my 
life *—nay, I think I had wrote from hence to her after the time 
she was dead, with the hopes that my letter should find her better ; 
with expressions of tenderness for the sickness she had endured ? 
of wishes for her recovery ; of hopes of being* in a short time happy 
in her company ; of joy and comfort to myself, in being* designed 
to go to live again in the same place with her)—I say I had 
written all this:—to whom ? to my poor dead child ! Oh, sad 
and senseless condition of human life !” This speaks to the heart, 

for it is the language of the heart. 

© © 

He goes on to express his grief when the calamity was made 
known to him, and adds, u In the midst of this I had my wife 
lying weak and worn with long and continual sickness, and now, 
as it were, knocked quite on the head with this cruel blowa wife 
for whom I had all the tenderness imaginable; with whom I had 
lived long and happily, and had reason to be well pleased ; whose 
fainting heart and weak spirits I was to comfort and keep up when 
I had none myself!” 

This tender allusion to Lady Rochester shows how much she 
must have suffered on this occasion ; and the simple and unobtru¬ 
sive testimony to her merit, still existing* in the hand-writing of 
her husband, is worth more than twenty sonnets in her praise, 
though Waller himself had penned them. 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER 


208 

But Lord Rochester had little time for the indulgence of his own 
feelings, or for the consolation of others j while yet, as he expresses 
it, drowned in sorrow for the loss of his best child, he was hurried 
to attend on the spectacle of a dying monarch,—Charles the 
Second. Soon afterwards he was raised, by the friendship of his 
successor, to a more eminent and splendid station than he had yet 
enjoyed, and plunged into all the turmoil of politics. Lady Roches¬ 
ter was among those most distinguished by the new Queen,—the 
beautiful and amiable Maria of Modena. Burnet mentions a visit 
which the Queen paid to Lady Rochester when confined to a sick 
room : at the time of this visit, rumours were afloat that James 
had tampered with Lord Rochester on the subject of religion ; and 
it was said, that as the earl was found contumacious (that is, con¬ 
scientious) upon this point, the staff of Lord High Treasurer would 
be taken from him. Lady Rochester, it is said, attempted to de¬ 
precate this intention, and the Queen said, u that all the Protestants 
were turning against them, so that they knew not how they could 
trust any of them.” To which Lady Rochester replied, u that her 
lord was not so wedded to any opinion, as not to be ready to be 
better instructed.” Lady Rochester had never before meddled 
with politics, and this first attempt was not successful; nor, it must 
be owned, much to her credit: it is right to add, that it rests on 
very suspicious evidence—that of an enem)\ 

Towards the end of the year 1686, Lady Rochester, after a 
long' interval, gave birth to a fifth daughter, and survived her 
confinement only a few months: she died at Bath, whither her 
husband had taken her for the benefit of her health, on the 12th 
of April, 1687 : she w T as in her forty-second year. 

The Earl of Rochester, after acting a conspicuous part in the 
great events of the Revolution, and the angry politics of Queen 
Anne’s reign, died in the year 1712. 


Lady Rochester left five children. Her eldest son, Henry Lord 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


200 


Hyde, succeeded to his father’s title, and eventually to that of 
Clarendon.* He married the daughter of Sir William Leveson 
Gower, herself a celebrated beauty, and the mother of a beauty 
far more celebrated,—of Lady Catherine Hyde, afterwards that 
Duchess of Queensbury upon whom Pope and Prior have con¬ 
ferred an immortality, more lasting* than the pencil of Lely or of 
Kneller could bestow on her mother and grandmother. Richard 
Hyde, the second son of Lady Rochester, died young on his pas¬ 
sage to the West Indies. 

Her eldest surviving daughter, Lady Henrietta, married James 

Earl of Dalkeith, son of the unfortunate Duke of Monmouth, and 

ancestor of the Duke of Buccleuo*h. 

© 

Lady Mary Hyde married Lord Conway, ancestor of the Mar¬ 
quess of Hertford. 

Lady Catherine, who was Maid of Honour to Queen Anne, died 
unmarried. 

The picture from which the portrait is engraved, hangs in the 
Beauty Room at Windsor. It was traditionally supposed to 
represent the wife of Wilmot, the witty and profligate Earl of 
Rochester,—who, though an heiress,f was no beauty; cm contretire, 
—till Horace Walpole and Granger set the matter right. It is a 
delicate and pleasing*, hut not a striking* picture; the face is soft 
and beautiful, without any expression, and accords with the gentle 
and lady-like character of the original: the back-ground is well 
painted. The drapery, which is of the palest blue, harmonizing 
with the extreme delicacy of the complexion, is rather more deco¬ 
rous, and not less inexplicable, than Lely’s draperies usually are. 


# The present Earl of Clarendon is descended from Lady Rochester in the 
female line. 

f La triste Ilcritiere of De Grammont; she was Miss Mallet of Enmere. 


r 



210 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


[Laurence Hyde, Earl of Rochester, was second son to the 
Lord Chancellor Clarendon, and was a nobleman that had had all 
the improvement of education and experience, with a good capa¬ 
city. He was, when very young, employed by King Charles the 
Second in foreign negotiations; and was by King James the 
Second made Lord High Treasurer of England, knight of the 
Garter, and created Earl of Rochester. He opposed King* Wil¬ 
liam’s coming to the throne, and generally thwarted the measures 
of the court; till the King, to g*ain him and his party in opposition 
to France, upon the breach of the Partition treaty, made him 
Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, and a member of the cabinet; hut, 
contrary to all expectations, he was thrown out again, yet had 
always a very considerable pension during that King’s reign. 

On Queen Anne’s accession he was again made Lord-Lieutenant 
of Ireland, which he soon quitted; and not being made Lord 
High Treasurer, which he expected, he was so disgusted, as to 
come no more to court. 

He was easily wound up to a passion, which is the reason why 
he so often lost himself in the debates of the House of Peers; 
and the opposite party knew so well how to attack him, as to make 
his great stock of knowledge fail him. He was, notwithstanding, 
one of the finest men in England for interest, especially the church 
party, and was very zealous for his friends. He was of a middle 
stature, well shaped, and of a brown complexion. 

In the year 1G84, the Earl of Rochester was nominated Lord- 
Lieutenant of Ireland in the room of the Duke of Ormond ; but 
that appointment determining with the death of his majesty, the 
white staff was again put into the Earl of Rochester’s hands by 
King James II. 

When he was Lord Treasurer in the reign of James the Second, 
he checked as much as possible the lavish expenditure of the 
court; and it is said that he complained to the King of the extra- 


THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER. 


211 


vagance of the Princess of Denmark, (afterwards Queen Anne); and 
that when James recommended her to be in future more economi¬ 
cal, her friend Lady Churchill, afterwards the celebrated Sarah 
Duchess of Marlborough, exclaimed, “Ah, Madame, this is the 
advice of your uncle, old Rochester !” This is an anecdote which 
speaks much in his praise. He was never popular with any 
party, and by his own he appears to have been a nobleman more 
respected and feared than loved. 

Among* the original correspondence of the g-reat Duke of Or¬ 
mond, now in the possession of Mr. Colburn, are two letters from 
the Earl of Rochester ‘ one to the Duke of Ormond, the other to 
the Duke of Beaufort, on the second marriag-e of the young- Earl 
of Ossory, which seems to have followed the death of his first 
wife much sooner than Mrs. Jameson has stated. As neither 
have been printed, we are tempted to give the first. 

To the Duke of Ormond , then at Bodminton. 

“■Whitehall, July 31, 1685. 

u Thoug-h it he not long since I waited on your Grace, 
and that I hope wee shall meet again very soone, I cannot omitt 
till then to tell you the part I take in the satisfaction I know 
your Grace must have, on seeing my Lord of Ossory soe well 
disposed off, and setled in the allyence of soe good and great 
a family. How tender soever this subject may he to me, you 
know my thoughts very early upon it, and I doe as heartily wish 
you and your family all happyness in this marryage as any man 
liveing can doe. I pray God make the continuance of it long-, and 
give you health and strength to the same proportion you now enjoy, 
to make your grand-children the more happy. It is what I 
always wished for, and what I shall always endeavour to contri¬ 
bute to, and will ever he, with the greatest truth and sincerity, 

Your Grace’s most faithfull, 

and most obedient servant, 

Rochester.” —Ed.] 

r 2 


ELIZABETH BAGOT, 


AFTERWARDS 

COUNTESS OF FALMOUTH, AND COUNTESS OF DORSET. 


“ So far as doth the daughter of the day 
All other lesser lights in light excel, 

So far doth she in beautiful array 
Above all other maidens bear the bell; 

No less in virtue that beseems her well, 

Doth she exceed the rest of all her race.” 

Spenser. 


We know far too little of Miss Bagot, since all that can be known 
of her only excites a wish to know more. The lovely sketch of her 
in De Grammont’s Memoirs, the yet more beautiful and finished 
portrait which the pencil of Lely has bequeathed to us, are just 
sufficient to awaken a degree of admiration and interest, which the 
feAv particulars we can collect from other sources serve rather to 
increase than to gratify. 

When, upon the restoration of the royal family, the clandestine 
union of the Duke of York and Anne Hyde was formally acknow¬ 
ledged by himself and sanctioned by the King, she was of course 
admitted to all the privileges and honours which belonged to her 









































31ISS BAGOT. 


213 


as first Princess of the Bloody and wife of the heir-presumptive.* 
She was allowed a truly royal establishment; consisting* of a 
Chamberlain, Master of Horse, the usual retinue of lords in wait¬ 
ing- and pages ; and, though last not least, four Maids of Honour : 
the choice of the latter being left entirely to herself. 

Her first selection, it should seem, was not either brilliant or for¬ 
tunate. The four young ladies who formed her retinue were soon 
dispersed different ways; some married, and some—as the Scotch 
say — u did worse .” 

For example; there was that laughter-loving, frolic-seeking 
g-ipsy Miss Price, who was suspected, even before her appoint¬ 
ment, of having forfeited all claims to the title, if not to the office, 
of Maid of Honour. She was soon dismissed: the very mal-ct- 
propos death of a lover having brought to light a certain casket of 
billets doux, all in the hand-writing of the fair Price, and the 
duchess having unluckily and inadvertently read aloud the two first 
before witnesses, found herself under the necessity of burning the 
remainder; and for the sake of example, and as a warning to all 
young* ladies in the same predicament not to be found out in future, 
Miss Price was ordered to go and weep her lover elsewhere than 
in the royal ante-chamber. In spite of this dismissal, Miss Price 
appears to have maintained her ground in society, since we fre- 


* Anne Hyde was married in 1659. Without the slightest pretensions to 
beauty, she had a presence so noble, and an air at once so gracious and so com¬ 
manding, that Nature seems to have intended her for the rank she afterwards 
attained. On her elevation to the second dignity of the kingdom, she “ took 
state upon her” as if accustomed to it from her cradle; and, as Grammont 
observes, held out her hand to be kissed “ avec autant de grandeur et de majeste, 
que si de sa vie elle n’eut fait autre chose.” 

By her spirited conduct she obliged the Duke of York to acknowledge his mar¬ 
riage with her, contrary to his own intentions and the wishes of the King, and in 
defiance of the Queen-mother, who vowed in a rage, that whenever “ that woman 
was brought into Whitehall by one door, she would go out of it by the other.” 
Yet she was afterwards reconciled to the match, and acknowledged the duchess 
as her daughter. 


214 


MISS BAGOT. 


quently hear of her afterwards; and her unscrupulous good-nature, 
vivacity, and knowledge of the world, rendered her a favourite at 
court. 

The next was Miss Hobart, with whose name scandal was more 
malignantly busy, though not so loud. She was not handsome, 
hut she had talents, and a turn for mischievous intrigue, which 
raised her up some bitter enemies. The duchess, who esteemed 
her, and was far too reasonable and good-natured to listen to the 
slanders she could not silence, removed Miss Hobart from her post 
of Maid of Honour, and placed her immediately about her own 
person, and under her own protection, as her woman of the bed¬ 
chamber. 

The third of these damsels was Henrietta Maria Blagg;* “La 
Blague aux blonde paupilres” of He Gram months Memoirs. She 
was the same to whom Miss Hamilton, in the spirit of mischievous 
frolic, sent the gants de Martial and the lemon-coloured ribbons, 
in order to set off to more advantage the flaxen ringlets and fade 
complexion of this most fair, most insipid, and silly of coquettes. 
After figuring' in her lemon-coloured coiffure at that famous court- 

O c5 

ball which has already been described in the Memoirs of Miss 
Hamilton, and making two or three attempts to rival Miss Price, 
—who carried off one of her lovers, and, at the wicked instigation 
of Miss Hamilton, did her best to carry off another,—Miss Blagg 
resigned her maiden office in the duchess’s court, and it is to be 
hoped her coquetry also, and married Sir Thomas Yarborough, a 
Yorkshire baronet, as singularly fair as herself; to show the world, 
says Hamilton, u Ce que produirait une union si blafarde.” 

The fourth was Miss Bagot, the subject of the present Memoir, 
and the only one of the number who had any real pretensions to 
sense and beauty. 

* She was the daughter of Colonel Blagg, or Blague, of the county of Suffolk. 
Her sister, so often mentioned in Evelyn’s Memoirs, was a most amiable and 
accomplished woman, and afterwards the wife of the first Lord Godolphin. 


MISS BAGOT. 


215 


Elizabeth Bag’ot was the daughter of Colonel Hervey Bag’ot, 
third son of Sir Hervey Bagot, Baronet, one of the ancestors of 
the present Lord Bag’ot. Her mother, Dorothea Arden, of the 
Ardens of Park Hall, in Warwickshire, died in 1640, leaving* an 
only daughter, an infant. Colonel Bag'ot, soon after the death of 
his first wife, married Elizabeth Botheram, who made an affec¬ 
tionate and careful step-mother. 

The whole family of the Bag’ots had adhered to the party of 
Charles the First, and had suffered more or less in the royal cause. 
Colonel Hervey Bag’ot had particularly distinguished himself by 
his chivalrous loyalty, and his defence of Lichfield: these claims 
were not overlooked like those of many others. On the Restora¬ 
tion, he became one of the Gfentlemen-pensioners of Charles the 
Second, and his daughter Elizabeth was appointed Maid of Honour 
to the Duchess of York. 

She had hitherto been brought up in retirement, but we have 
no particulars of her life or education before she first appeared at 
court in 1661, and immediately fixed attention. Her beauty was 
the more striking, because it was of a style and character very 
unusual in England. She was a brunette, with fine regular features, 
black eyes, rather soft than sparkling, and a well-proportioned 
figure on a large scale: her dark but clear complexion was, upon 
the slightest emotion, suffused with crimson; so that, as Hamilton 
says so gracefully, u Elle rougissait de tout sans rien faire dont 
elle eut a rougir.” 

So lovely a creature must have moved among her companions 
like a being of another sphere, and hardly required the fadeur of 
Miss Blagg, or the vulgarity of Miss Price, as foils to her superior 
charms. Charles Berkeley, Earl of Falmouth, after sighing awhile 
in vain for Miss Hamilton, turned to Miss Bagot, as the only one 
who could compete with her in beauty,—who was not so highly 
gifted in mind as to have a right to be fastidious,—who had not 
wit enough to make her lovers her jest,—and, with he** soft dark 


210 


MISS BAGOT. 


eyes and varying blushes, did not look like one who could reduce a 
suitor to despair. 

Falmouth was young-, brave, and handsome j he had been one of 
the faithful companions of the Duke of York in his exile, and by 
him introduced to the King*: he soon became the declared favourite 
of both, and a sharer in all their profligate adventures. He had 
done everything- in his power to prevent the acknowledgment of the 
duke’s marriage with Anne Hyde, which he regarded as disgrace¬ 
ful to his patron : he even went so far as to traduce her infamously, 
but was afterwards obliged to retract the unmanly slander. This 
offence the duchess magnanimously forgave, but her father, Lord 
Clarendon, as bitterly avenged, by leaving us in his history a most 
odious picture of Berkeley, whom he describes as a a young man 
of a dissolute life, and prone to all wickedness in the judgment of 

all sober men.One in whom few men had ever seen any 

virtue or quality which they did not wish their best friends 
without.”* 


But whatever might have been Lord Falmouth’s vices and follies 
in the opinion of all sober men, it is not likely that he would be 
judged with severity in a court where he was all-powerful,—where 
profligacy, so far from being a fault, was a proof of loyalty if not 
of wit, and the received distinction of a real cavalier,—where 
neither by the King* nor any one else apparently, except Miss 
Hamilton, a had he ever been denied what he asked, either for 
himself or others.” It is no great imputation on Miss Bagot’s 
sense or taste that she should be dazzled by the personal advan¬ 
tages of Lord Falmouth, and excuse or disbelieve many faults 
in one who was bent to please her, and who possessed so many 
powers of pleasing. We find therefore, without surprise, that she 
soon exchanged the title of Maid of Honour for that of Countess 
of Falmouth. This marriage, which must have taken place about 
1663, did not remove Lady Falmouth from the court she had 

* Clarendon’s Life. 


/ 



MISS BAGOT. 


217 


previously adorned, but merely placed her in a more conspicuous 
and exalted rank; and for a year and a half she shone in that gay 
sphere, an object of admiration and envy. We have also reason 
to believe that she was, at this period of her life, a beloved and 
happy wife as well as a worshipped beauty ; for whatever might 
he the faults of Lord Falmouth, his attachment to her must have 
been passionate and disinterested, since she had no portion, and 
there was scarce an unmarried woman of any rank or fortune that 
would have rejected his suit. Perpetual constancy, perhaps, had 
been too much to expect from a man of his temperament and 
morals; but he was not long enough her husband to forget to be 
her lover. Rich in all the gifts of nature and fortune, young* and 
thoughtless in the gayest of courts, “round like the ring that 
made them one, the golden pleasures circled without end,”—that 
is, for a few short months, for so long did this eternity of happiness 
endure, and no longer. In 1665, Lord Falmouth, partly from a 
wish to distinguish himself, and partly from an attachment to the 
Duke of York, volunteered, with many other young* noblemen and 
gentlemen, to serve on board the fleet in the first Dutch war. The 
engagement off Harwich, called in history the great sea-figlit, 
being* one of the most memorable of our naval victories, took place 
on the 3rd of June, 1665. The Earl of Falmouth, who was on 
board the Royal Charles, the duke’s ship, and standing close to 
his royal highness in the thick of the fight, was struck dead by a 
cannon-ball. The same shot killed Lord Muskerry and young 
Boyle, the son of the Earl of Burlington. The duke escaped, but 
was covered with the blood of his devoted friends. This great 
victory, like many others, had no permanent results, and was most 
dearly bought. It threw many of the first families in the kingdom 
into mourning*: “ But no sorrow,” says Clarendon, “ was equal— 
at least no sorrow so remarkable, as the King’s was for the Earl 
of Falmouth. They who knew his majesty best, and had seen how 
unshaken he had stood in other very terrible assaults, were amazed 
at the floods of tears he shed upon this occasion and it is said 

* “ The King, it seems, is much troubled at the fate of Lord Falmouth: but 
I do not meet with any man else that so much as wishes him alive again, the 


218 


MISS BAGOT. 


that the Duke of York deemed the glory he had gained in this 
action, and even his own safety, dearly purchased by the loss of 
his young favourite. 

When princes mourn, they mourn in public * when widows 
mourn,—they sometimes mourn in public too ; hut Lady Falmouth 
does not appear to have done so, for we hear nothing of her g’rief. 
The best proof we have of the reality of her sorrow is, that her 
name does not appear in any of the contemporary memoranda for 
two or three years: during this time she seems to have lived 
retired from the court, or at least to have taken but little share in 
its amusements. Towards the end of the year 1667, there was a 
report that she was engaged to marry young Henry Jermyn, one 
of the heroes of De Grammont’s Memoirs; hut she escaped a union 
with this notorious coxcomb, and the next we hear of her is her 
marriage with the celebrated Earl of Dorset. 

The earl, when only Lord Buckhurst, had passed a youth even 
more dissolute and extravagant than that of Lord Falmouth. 
Like him, he had volunteered in the sea-fight of 1665, and like 
him had distinguished himself by his light-hearted bravery; hut in 
one respect more fortunate than his predecessor, he lived long 
enough to redeem his youthful extravagances, and instead of being 
remembered as a mere man of wit and pleasure, he has left a 
brilliant reputation as an accomplished gentleman, a patron of 
letters, the most honest and disinterested courtier, and most con¬ 
sistent statesman of that day. His marriage with the widow of 
Lord Falmouth could not have been one of interest, since she had 
no fortune but her pension from the King • and to have been the 
choice of such a man as the Earl of Dorset, when he must have 
been nearly forty and she herself upwards of thirty, is a fair argu- 


world conceiving him a man of too much pleasure to do the King any good, or 
offer any good advice to him. But I hear of all hands he is confessed to have 
been a man of great honour, that did show it in this his going with the duke, the 
most that ever man did.”— Pepys’ Diary, vol. i. page 344. 


MISS BAGOT. 


219 


ment that neither the beauty nor the reputation of the lady had 
been impaired during* her long* widowhood. 

The Countess of Dorset died in 1684, leaving* no children by 
either of her husbands. After her death, Lord Dorset married 
Lady Mary Compton, daug’hter of the Earl of Northampton, a 
woman celebrated in her time for her virtue, beauty, and accom¬ 
plishments. 

This portrait of Miss Bag*ot, which is now engraved for the first 
time, is from a picture by Lely, in the possession of Earl Spencer. 
It is one of the chief ornaments of the splendid gallery at Althorpe, 
and certainly one of the finest of all Lely’s female portraits. It is 
so full of expression and character, and coloured with such 
uncommon power and richness of effect, as to remind us of Yan- 
dyke. The landscape in the hack-ground is particularly fine : the 
cannon-hall which she poises in her lap as though it were a feather, 
we must suppose to he merely metaphorical, and allusive to the 
death of her first husband. From the introduction of this emblem, 
the pensive air of the head, and the shade of sorrow which is 
thrown over the features, we may suppose this fine picture to have 
been painted in the interval between her first and second marriage. 


MRS. NOTT. 


Would that this fair, sentimental, Madonna-like creature could 
speak, and tell us who and what she was ! The pencil has immor¬ 
talized a lovely face, tradition has preserved a name $ and must we 
he satisfied with these ? Is there no power in conjuration to make 
those ruby lips unclose and reveal all we long* to know ? Are they 
for ever silent ? The soul that once inhabited there, that looked 
through these mild eyes, the heart that beat beneath that modest 
vest,—are they fled and cold ? and of all the thoughts, the feelings, 
the hopes, the joys, the fears, the ce hoard of unsunn’d griefs” that 
once had their dwelling there, is this—this surface—where beauty 
yet lives u clothed in the rainbow tints of heaven,” but mute, cold, 
impassive—all that remains? Why should the vices of a Castle- 
maine, the frailties of a Nell Gwynn be remembered, and their 
evil manners live in brass, while the virtues which might have been 
opposed to them have been a written in water ?” Is it not a pity 
that Fame, that daughter of the skies, should, in the profligate 
times of Charles, have caught something* of the contagion around 
her, and, like other fair ladies, have laid aside her celestial attri¬ 
butes, to sink into the veriest scandal-loving gossip that ever 
haunted a card-table ? When she put her trumpet to her mouth, 
at every blast a reputation fell; and the malignant echoes, instead 
of dying away in whispers, have been repeated from generation to 
generation. They who were a shame to their sex have been 
chronicled to all time; but she who was chaste as ice, 

“ Or the white clown of heaven, whose feathers play 
( Upon the wings of a cold winter gale, 

Trembling with fear to touch th’ impurer earth,” 
























































































































MRS. NOTT. 


221 


she whom Calumny spared, Fame neglected j a species of injustice, 
for which the said Dame renommee deserves to have her trumpet 
broken, and her wings stripped from her shoulders. 

But then, it may be asked, is not the praise that waits on 
feminine virtue far too delicate to be trusted to such a brazen 
vehicle ? more fitted to the poet’s lyre than the trumpet of fame ? 
And is it not better, while gazing on that beautiful face, which 
looks all innocence, to lose ourselves in delightful fancies and possi¬ 
bilities which none can disprove, rather than trace the brand of 
vulg*ar scandal on that brow,—scandal which we cannot refute,— 
nor those soft, sealed lips repel ? Is it not better to admire we 
know not who, than turn away with disgust, as we do from the 
portraits of a Shrewsbury or a Southesk, whose beauty shocks us 
like the colours of an adder ? This fair creature, with her veil, 
and her book, and her flowers, and the little village church in the 
back-ground, looks far too good and demure for a Maid of Honour, 
— I mean for a Maid of Honour of Charles’s court; for, Heaven 
forbid that we should reflect on the honourable virginity of our 
own days ! and yet the whole of the information which has been 
obtained amounts to this ; that Mrs. Nott was one of the Maids of 
Honour to Queen Catherine, and nothing more can be known of 
the original. As for the picture, it is some satisfaction to know, 
while we gaze upon it, that slander has never breathed upon those 
features to sully them to our fancy; that sorrow, which comes to 
all, can never come there; that she shall keep her lustrous eyes, 
while those which now look upon her are closed for ever; and 
smile, still smile on, for other ages — u in midst of other woes than 
oursand this is something to dwell upon with pleasure, when 
all the rest is silence. * 

The portrait has always been one of the most admired of all the 
Windsor Beauties, and is painted with great sweetness and truth 
of colouring*. The drapery is crimson, relieved with a white veil. 
The vase of flowers in the back-ground is finished with a delicacy 
worthy of Verelst. 


MRS. NOTT. 


[This u Madonna-like creature” was a Stanley of Kent, the wife 
of a gentleman of the name of Notts, whose family had been of 
gentilitial rank for a generation or two in the city of Canterbury. 

Her history appears not to be much known. She was a distant 
cousin of the famous and lovely Lady Yenetia Stanley, the mis¬ 
tress of the Earl of Dorset, and the incomparable wife of that 
character u great in all numbers,” Sir Kenelm Digby. Probably 
Mrs. Nott was introduced at court by George Digby, Earl of 
Bristol; and she might have been an early and youthful friend of 
his daughter, Lady Anne Digby, Countess of Sunderland. Her 
name has had the good fortune to escape being recorded in the 
Chroniques scandaleuses of the day, and therefore we are bound 
to think that she was a pure and virtuous lady.— Ed.] 











































THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESIC. 


“ How should woman tell 

Of woman’s shame, and not with tears ?—She fell!” 

Mbs. Hemans. 


When the accompanying* portrait was first copied and engraved 
for publication, it was supposed to represent Frances Brooke, Lady 
Whitmore, the younger sister of Lady Denham ; by which name 
the portrait has been traditionally known in the gallery at Windsor. 
But on examining* the duplicate which exists at Narford, in the 
possession of Mr. Fountaine, and referring* to the authority of 
Horace Walpole and Grang*er, there can he little doubt that it 
represents a woman much more notorious, Anne, Countess of 
Southesk. By this title the picture has always been distinguished 
Narford since the days of Sir Andrew Fountaine, the first 
possessor, and the cotemporary of the original; and by this name 
it was recognised as an original by Horace Walpole. The copy 
made in crayons by his order, is now at Strawberry Hill, and 
noted in his catalogue as that Lady Southesk, who figures so 
disgracefully in De Grammont’s Memoirs. 

To take up the history of this woman seriously, would he a 
waste of indig'nation: the little that is known of her we could wish 
to he less—and it shall he told as gently as possible. 




224 


THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 


Lady Anne Hamilton was the eldest daughter of William 
second Duke of Hamilton, who, like all his family, was distinguished 
in the civil wars for his devoted and chivalrous loyalty. He lost 
his life at the battle of Worcester, fighting for an ungrateful and 
worthless King* and his wife Lady Elizabeth Maxwell (the 
daughter of the Earl of Dirletown,) whom he had married very 
young in 1G38, was left a widow, with four daughters,—the eldest, 
Lady Anne, being then about eleven years old. 

Where she spent her younger years,—how and by whom she 
was educated, cannot now be ascertained. The early loss of her 
noble father seems to have been her first misfortune, and the cause 
of all the faults, follies, and miseries which succeeded. The Duke 
of Hamilton had been distinguished in the court of Charles the 
First for his accomplishments and integrity ; he was so remarkable 
for his love of truth, that it was said u that candour seemed in 
him not so much the effect of virtue as of nature, since from his 
infancy upwards he had never been known to lie on any temptation 
whatever.” Burnet, who gives this testimony to the noblest and 
first of virtues, adds, that he was a handsome, witty, considerate, 
brave, and generous.”*' He married young, against his own in¬ 
clinations, and merely in obedience to the wishes and views of his 
brother, whom he idolized y\ but being married, he became an 
exemplary husband and father, and the gentle virtues of Lady 
Elizabeth appear to have won at length his entire confidence and 
affection. In a letter addressed to his wife on the eve of the battle 
of Worcester, he gives her the most endearing* appellations that 
tenderness and sorrow could dictate in such a moment: u I 
recommend to you,” he says, u the care and education of our poor 
children: let your great work be to make them early acquainted 
with God and their duty, and keep all light and idle company from 

* History of the Dukes of Hamilton. 

t His brother was James first Duke of Hamilton, beheaded by the Parliament 
during the civil wars. There is a portrait and memoir of William Duke of 
Hamilton, the father of Lady Southesk, in Lodge’s Portraits of Illustrious 
Persons. 


THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 


22b 

them.” After his death this letter was found in his pocket-book, 
stained with his blood. How far his last and most affecting- 
adjuration was attended to by his widow, we do not know • 
but we know that in the case ol one of his children it proved 
fruitless. 

The death of her father was not only an irreparable misfortune 
to Lady Anne, as it deprived her of a guardian and monitor, but 
it made an essential difference in her worldly prospects : although 
the titles and estates of the Hamilton family were transmitted in 
the female line, she was passed over, and the honours devolved on 
her cousin, the eldest daughter of James the first Duke of Hamil¬ 
ton, who became Duchess of Hamilton in her own right, while 
Lady Anne was destined to comparative insignificance. Still the 
high rank and virtues of her father, and the irreproachable conduct 
of her mother, render it difficult to account for the unguarded 
situation in which she was early placed, and her degenerate lapse 
from the virtues of her family. The very first notice we have of 
Lady Anne Hamilton, when she could not be more than eighteen, 
exhibits her as the friend and companion of Lady Castlemaine 
(then Mrs. Palmer,) and not only involved, as her confidante, in 
her intrigue with Lord Chesterfield, but most probably at the same 
time the object of his attentions.* She was then apparently a 
beautiful giddy flirt, prepared by the lessons and example of Lady 
Castlemaine for every species of mischief 5 and there is too much 
reason to believe, that when she attracted the notice of Lord 
Carnegie, the eldest son of the Earl of Southesk, she had ceased 
to be worthy of the hand or name of any man delicate on the 
score of female propriet}^, or jealous of his own honour. 

The family of Carnegie (or Kerneguy,) is now, I believe, extinct 
in all its branches. It was then one of the oldest in Scotland, 
and traced its origin to a noble Hungarian, who was naturalized 
in the country in the reign of Malcolm Canmore. James Carnegie, 


* Vide Correspondence of Philip second Earl of Chesterfield. 


220 


THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 


second Earl of Southesk, was a loyal and devoted adherent to the 
fortunes of Charles the First, and is also honourably mentioned 
for his g’eneral worth and integrity; his son Robert, Lord Carnegie, 
spent several years on the Continent, and during* the government 
of Cromwell resided at Paris, where he was much distinguished 
tty Louis XIV., who g*ave him a commission in the Scots Guards. 
He is described as a man of fine natural parts and graceful 
manners, improved by travelling* ;* but under these superficial 
advantages he concealed deep, dark, malignant passions, and a 
temper at once dissembling and vindictive : he had, besides, a 
predilection for bull-baiting, for the bear-garden, and the cock-pit, 
which we cannot reconcile with our ideas of an accomplished 
gentleman, even of that day. His marriage with Lady Anne 
Hamilton was celebrated soon after the Restoration ; but the date 
is not mentioned in any of the old peerages. 

After her appearance at court, Lady Carnegie plunged at once 
into every species of dissipation • nor did the birth of two sons in 
the first years of her marriage, check the career of thoughtless 
levity, and worse than levity, to which she abandoned herself. 
Her husband, meantime, was not gifted with the patience of a 
martyr * and though jealousy was not the fashion in Charles the 
Second’s time, Lord Carnegie, the courtier, the travelled man of 
the world, after having committed the folly of marrying a wild, 
vain, unprincipled girl, had the still greater folly to be jealous of 
his wife, and to betray it to the scoffing* court. While he was 
smarting* under a thousand agonies,—not indeed doubting* his 
dishonour, but only uncertain which of his wife’s numerous 
admirers he should select for the especial object of his hatred and 
vengeance,—he was summoned down to Scotland to attend the 
death-bed of his father; and while he was thus engaged, Lady 
Carnegie seized the opportunity to add the Duke of York to the 
list of her lovers. 

During her husband’s absence, she appears to have so far 


* Vide Douglas’s Scottish Peerage. 


THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 


227 


braved opinion, as to exhibit her royal captive every where in open 
triumph • but in a few weeks Lord Carnegie re-appeared with the 
title of Earl of Southesk, an accession of dignity which his fairer 
half would most willingly have dispensed with, if she could also 
have dispensed with his very incommodious return. It now 
became necessary to keep some measures of decency, and the duke 
never visited her without being* accompanied by some of the gentle¬ 
men of his retinue, by way of form. On one of these occasions 
he was attended by his Irish friend, Dick Talbot,* then only dis¬ 
tinguished for his loyalty, his love of pleasure, his reckless good¬ 
nature, and hair-brained precipitancy. 

While the duke was conversing with Lady Southesk, Talbot 
was placed at a window, as sentinel. He had not been there 
many minutes, before a carriage drew up at the door, and out 
stepped the husband. Talbot knew him well as Lord Carnegie; 
but having just returned from abroad, he had no idea that his 
former companion had lately changed his name—no recollection of 
his hereditary title; and it never occurred to him that the Lady 
Southesk, whom his patron was entertaining, was the wife of his 
old friend Carnegie. On seeing him alight he flew to prevent his 
entrance, telling him with a significant laugh, and a warm shake 
of the hand, that if he too was come to visit the beautiful Lady 
Southesk, he had only to go seek amusement elsewherej for that 
the Duke of York was just then engaged in paying his compli¬ 
ments to the lady, and had placed him there expressly to prevent 
any mal-a-propos interruption. 

Southesk, instead of forcing his way into his own house, and 
avenging on the spot his injured honour, was so utterly confounded 
by the cool impudence and obvious blunder of the unlucky Talbot, 
that he suffered himself to be fairly turned out by the shoulders, 
and sneaked off with a submission, partly the effect of surprise, 
partly of policy * for he had not courage to brave openly the heir- 

# Afterwards Duke of Tyrconnel. 

/ Q 2 


228 


THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK. 


presumptive to the crown. The history of this ludicrous adventure 
was speedily spread through the whole court; it became the sub¬ 
ject of ballads, lampoons, and epigrams innumerable, and covered 
the unfortunate earl with a degree of contempt and ridicule, which 
added to his shame and despair. 

Yet even this public exposure and its consequences did not 

: she continued for some years 
to haunt the court: she soug'lit at the gfaming* table a relief from 
ennui, and endeavoured to conceal by art the ravages which dissi¬ 
pation, rather than time, had made in her once lovely face. Pepys 
mentions her, among the beauties of the day, as parading her 
charms in the park and the theatre; and to use his own coarse, 
but forcible expression, u devilishly painted.” Her latter years 
were embittered by sorrows, against which a woman’s heart, how¬ 
ever depraved, is seldom entirely hardened. In her days of trium¬ 
phant beauty, she had neglected her children; and in age they 
became her torment. Her eldest son, Lord Carnegie, treated her 
with coldness, and seemed to enter into his father’s wrongs and 
feelings towards her; her youngest and favourite son, William 
Carnegie, a youth of great beauty of person and splendid talents, 
was killed in a duel at the age of nineteen. He had been sent to 
Paris to complete his education, and there meeting with young 
Tallemaclie, the son of the Duchess of Lauderdale,* they 
quarrelled about a profligate actress j and in this unworthy cause 
William Carnegie perished, in the spring and blossom of his years. 

Lady Southesk died before her husband, and did not long* sur¬ 
vive the loss of her son, which occurred in 1681 ; but the date of 
her death is not mentioned. Lord Southesk died in 1688, and was 
succeeded by his son Charles, Lord Carnegie, who, like all his 
family, was devotedly attached to the house of Stuart. After the 
Revolution he never visited the English court, but continued to 
reside in Scotland, either at Kinnaird in Forfar, or at the Castle 


banish Lady Southesk from society 


She was Countess of Dysart in her own right. 


THE COUNTESS OF SOUTIIESK. 


OOQ 

of Leuchars, the ancient seats of his family. He died in 1G99, 
and left a son, the fifth and last Earl of Southesk. 

Lady Southesk had three sisters, who all married in Scotland, 
and apparently passed their lives there. The eldest, Lady Eliza¬ 
beth Hamilton, became Countess of Glencairn ; Lady Mary mar¬ 
ried Lord Calendar; and Lady Margaret became the wife of 
William Blair, of Blair. 

This picture is not very brilliantly or powerfully painted ; the 
girlish and almost rustic simplicity of the face, and the demure 
colour of the drapery, which is of a dark lavender tint, strangely 
belie the character of the woman to whom it is here attributed; 
but for reasons already stated, I have little doubt that it is really 
the portrait of the Countess of Southesk. 


SUSAN ARMINE, 

LADY BELLASYS. 


“ Bonne et Belle assez.” 

Motto of the Belasyse family. 


This picture, which is the most striking- and splendid of the whole 
series known as the Windsor Beauties, is, unhappily, one of the 
disputed portraits. At Windsor it is traditionally known as 
Elinor Lady Byron but, on the authority of Horace Walpole, 

* Elinor Needham, daughter of Lord Kilmurrey, married at eleven years old 
to Peter "Warburton, Esq., who died before she was fifteen, and after his death 
the wife of the first Lord Byron, is described in Sir Peter Leycester’s Antiquities 
of Chester, as “ a person of such comely carriage and presence, handsomeness, 
sweet disposition, honour, and general respect in the world, that she has scarce 
left her equal behind.” But Sir Peter was personally the friend of the lady, and 
connected with her family, and his testimony is rather incorrect and partial. 
The fact is, that this Lady Byron became, after the death of her husband, the 
mistress of Charles II. during his exile ; and, avarice being her ruling passion, 
she contrived to extort from him, even in the midst of his distresses, upwards of 
15,000/. in money and jewels, &c. She was dismissed for the sake of Lady 
Castlemaine, before the King’s return, and died at Chester, within two years 
after the Restoration. It is not very probable that the portrait of this lady should 
find its way into the Gallery of court Beauties of the time of Charles II. It 
may be added, that the picture has been attributed by some to Vandyke, by 
others to Lely, by others to Huysman. If Lady Byron sat to Vandyke, it must 
have been in her childhood ; if to Lely or to Huysman, it must have been abroad, 




















LADY BELLASYS. 


2M 


Granger, and Sir William Musgrave, all three well versed in the 
biography of our peerage, as well as in pictorial and domestic 
antiquities, it is generally supposed to represent Susan Armine, 
“the widow of Sir Henry Bellasys, and mistress of the Duke of 
York.”* 

Methinks, if this magnificent-looking creature could speak, she 
would certainly exclaim against this last disreputable and unmerited 
title, or insist that it should be understood with a reservation in 
her favour: but since those lips, though stained with no u Stygian 
hue,” are silenced by death, and can only look their scorn, we 
must plead, in defence of Lady Bellasys, that if the circumstances 
of her life gave some colour to the slander which has been unad¬ 
visedly stamped on her fair, open brow, she estimated, as a woman 
ought to estimate, her own and her sex’s honour. 

Susan Armine was the daughter of Sir William Armine, of 
Osgodby, in Lincolnshire. Her mother, Mary Talbot, was a 
niece of the Earl of Shrewsbury, and a lady distinguished in her 
time for her various learning, as well as for her gentle and femi¬ 
nine virtues and extensive charities.')' It appears that Susan 
Armine w'as their only child and heiress, and that she was married 
very young’, according* to the fashion of those times, to Henry 
Bellasys, the son and heir of Lord Bellasys, and nephew of Lord 
Fauconberg’.J Lord Bellasys, who had greatly signalized himself 

or after the Bestoration, both circumstances equally improbable. Among the 
family pictures at Tabley, (the seat of the Leycesters,) there is a very fine full- 
length portrait, nearly resembling this at Windsor: it is there entitled Lady 
Byron, and attributed to Lely. On the whole it is quite impossible to reconcile 
the very contradictory evidence relative to the person and the picture, but by 
attributing the portrait at once to Lady Bellasys, on the most probable grounds, 
and the most credible testimony. 

* Horace Walpole, Anecdotes of Painting; Granger’s Biographical History 
of England ; and Musgrave’s MS. notes to Granger, British Museum. 

t Lady Armine died in 1674. It is said that she founded three hospitals for 
the sick and the poor, one of which (at Burton Grange, Yorkshire,) still exists. 

+ In the reign of Charles II. the name was spelt indifferently Bellasscs and 


LADY BELLASYS. 


in the royal cause, became, after the Restoration, the friend and 
favourite of the Duke of York; and his son Henry was created a 
knight of the Bath, in recompense for his own gallantry and his 
father’s loyalty. 

From the few particulars which have been preserved relating to 
Sir Henry Bellasys, we may pronounce him to have been emi¬ 
nently brave and generous, but of a rash and fiery disposition. 
His headlong impetuosity first involved him in a luckless mistake, 
which led to the murder of an innocent man,* and afterwards 
occasioned his own death, in the prime of life, and within a few 
years after his marriage. The circumstances, which form, per¬ 
haps, the severest satire against duelling' that ever was penned, 
and might well excite a smile but for the tragical result, are thus 
related :—Sir Henry, after a late revel, was conversing apart with 
his dear and sworn friend Tom Porter, then Groom of the Chamber 
to the King. As they spoke with animation, and rather loud, 
some one standing by asked if they were quarrelling ? u Quar¬ 
relling ?” exclaimed Sir Henry, turning round ; u no ! I would 
have 3 t ou to know that I never quarrel but I strike !”— u How !” 
said Porter, u strike ! I would I could see the man that dare 
give me a blow !” Sir Henry, flushed with recent intemperance, 
and only sensible to the defiance implied in these words, instantly 
struck him. They drew, of course, but were immediately separated 
by their friends. Porter left the house, and meeting Dryden, 
told him, in a wild manner, what had just passed, and that he 
must fight Sir Henry Bellasys presently ; for if he waited till the 
morrow, he <c knew they would be friends again, and the disgrace 
of the blow would rest upon him.” He borrowed Dryden’s ser¬ 
vant, whom he ordered to watch for Sir Henry, and give him 
notice which way he went. He then followed his carriage, 
stopped it in Covent-Garden, and called on his friend to alight. 

Bellasys, but more recently Belasyse. The title of Fauconberg became extinct 
within the last few years. 

* See Pepys, vol. i. p. 133. 


LADY BELLASYS. 2313 

They drew their swords and foug’ht on the spot, some of their 
acquaintance and others looking 1 on; till Sir Henry Bellasys, 
finding 1 himself severely wounded, staggered, and had nearly 
fallen, but sustaining himself by an effort, he called to Tom Porter, 
and desired him to fly. u Tom,” said he affectionately, u thou 
hast hurt me; but I will make a shift to stand on my legs till 
thou mayst withdraw, for I would not have thee troubled for 
what thou hast done !” He then kissed and embraced him: but 
Porter, unable to speak, could only show him that he too was 
wounded, and bleeding. In this state they were carried home. 
Sir Henry Bellasys died of his wounds within four days after the 
encounter; and thus, in consequence of a foolish and drunken 
outrage, perished a young man of high hopes, noble birth, gene¬ 
rous feeling*, and approved gallantry, by the hand of the man he 
most loved, and for whom he would willingly have shed his blood. 
This extraordinary duel, which even then excited more ridicule 
than sympathy,* occurred in 1GG7. 

Of Lady Bellasys, married so young, and so early left a widow, 
we do not hear at this time. She was the mother of one son, an 
infant; and it appears that she lived in retirement for some years 
after the death of her husband. It was about the year 1G70 that 
she was first distinguished at court,—not so much for her beauty, 
as for her wit, her vivacity, her high spirit and uncommon powers 
of mind. These qualities fascinated the Duke of York. It was 
said of him, that he was as indifferent to beauty as Charles was to 
virtue and intellect in woman. Some of the ladies whom the duke 
most admired were so homely, that the King* used to aver, that the 
priests had inflicted his brother’s mistresses on him by way of 
penance. It is, however, certain that those women whom the 
duke selected as the peculiar objects of his homage, do rather 
more honour to his taste, than the favourites of Charles do to his: 
Lady Denham, Arabella Churchill, Miss Sedley, Lady Bellasys, 

* “ It is pretty to hear how all the world doth talk ol them ; and call them a 
couple of fools, who killed each other for pure love.”— Pepys. 


LADY BELLASYS. 


2-34 

to say nothing' of Miss Hamilton and Miss Jennings, whom he 
also passionately admired and vainly pursued, are proofs that 
something- like education and refinement were necessary to attract 
his attention, and something' like wit and understanding* to keep 
him awake. Lady Bellasys, who had virtue and spirit as well as 
wit and hrig'lit eyes, gained a strong' influence over his mind with¬ 
out compromising* her own honour • and after the death of the first 
duchess of York, in 1672, he actually placed in her hands a writ¬ 
ten contract of marriage, only requiring* secrecy, at least for a 
time. This affair coming- to the knowledge of the King some 
months afterwards, he sent for his brother, and rebuked him very 
severely, telling him that u at his age it was intolerable that he 
should think to play the fool over again,” alluding to his former 
marriage with Anne Hyde. But neither the threats of the King, 
nor the arguments and persuasions of Lord Bellasys, her father- 
in-law, who thought himself obliged, in honour and duty, to inter¬ 
fere, could, for a long* time, induce Lady Bellas} r s to give up this 
contract of marriage, and brand herself with dishonour. She 
yielded, at length, when the safety and welfare of the duke and 
the peace of the nation were urged as depending on her com¬ 
pliance ; but even then, only on condition that she should be 
allowed to keep an attested copy in her own possession • to which 
they were obliged, though most reluctantly, to consent, In return 
for this concession, Lady Bellasys was created, in 1674, a peeress 
for life, by the title of Baroness Bellasys of Osgodby, having suc¬ 
ceeded, on the death of her father and mother, to the family estates. 

It is said that the Duke of York, who seems to have loved Lady 
Bellasys as well as he could love any thing, made many attempts 
to convert her to his own religion, but in vain. It was even sup¬ 
posed that there was some danger of the lady converting her royal 
lover j a suspicion which raised a strong* party against her among 
the duke’s Roman Catholic dependants, and led to much of the 
slander from which her name and fame have suffered. 

About ten years after these events, Lady Bellasys married a 


LADY BELLASYS. 


235 


gentleman ol fortune, whose name was Fortrey, of whom we know 
nothing but that she survived him. Her son, Henry Bellasys, 
succeeded in 1684 to the title and estates of his grandfather, as 
Lord Bellasys of Worlaby, and died about the year 1690 : he 
married Anne Brudenell, a beautiful woman, and sister of the 
celebrated Countess of Newburgh, Lord Lansdowne’s Mira. She 
afterwards married Charles Lennox, Duke of Bichmond • and from 
her the present duke is descended. 

It is to be inferred, from a letter of Swift to Mrs. Dingley, (or 
rather to Stella,) that Lady Bellasys appeared again at court in 
the reign of Queen Anne, and from this daughter of her former 
lover she received every mark of distinction and respect. She died 
on the 6th of January, 1713, bequeathing her rich inheritance 
among her nearest kinsmen: Lord Berkeley of Stratton was 
appointed the executor of her will, with a legacy of ten thousand 
pounds. 

Horace Walpole, in allusion to this portrait, thinks it probable 
that Charles, by admitting Lady Bellasys into the gallery at 
Windsor, meant to insinuate the superiority of his own taste over 
that of his brother; if so, he has not assuredly taken the best 
means of proving it, since every other face, however regular and 
beautiful, appears insipid when placed in contrast with this noble 
creature,—Miss Hamilton’s, perhaps, alone excepted. 

Lady Bellasys is here represented as St. Catherine. Her left 
hand rests on the wheel, and supports the palm branch • her right 
hand is pressed to her bosom. The drapery, which is dark blue 
and crimson, falls round her in grand and ample folds, and is 
coloured with exceeding richness. In the back-ground two 
cherubs are descending to crown her with myrtle, and she turns 
her large dark eyes towards them with an expression of rapturous 
devotion. Her jet black hair, falling from beneath a coronet of 
gems, flows in ringlets upon her neck; and this peculiarity, as 
well as the uncovered amplitude of the bosom and shoulders, seems 


230 


LADY BELLASYS. 


to refer the portrait to the time of Charles II. On a critical 
examination of the features, we are obliged to allow the absence of 
beauty; the contour of the face is not perfect, and the nose and 
mouth are rather irregular in form • but then, as a certain French 
cardinal said of his mistress, a c’est cm moins , la plus belle irregu¬ 
lar ite du moncle ”—and the eyes and brow are splendid. They 
have all the life and vivacity which Burnet attributes to this 
intractable lady, as he styles her.* There is so much of poetry 
and feeling* in the composition of this picture; so much of intel¬ 
lectual grandeur in the turn of the head; such a freedom and 
spirit in the mechanical execution ; and such a rich tone of colour 
pervading the whole, that the portrait might be assigned at once 
to Vand} T ke, if other circumstances did not render it improbable. 
It bears no traces of the style of Sir Peter Lely, and I am inclined 
to agree with Horace AValpole, who attributes it decidedly to 
Huysman. Huysman was the pupil of Vandyke, and he may 
have painted this picture in the early period of his residence in 
England, and before he quitted the powerful and spirited style of 
his former master, to imitate the effeminate graces of Lely. There 
is at Gorhambury, in the possession of Lord Verulam, a portrait of 
Queen Catherine, indisputably by Huysman, so nearly resembling 
this picture in the composition and style of execution, that it adds 
strength to this persuasion;—but I am far from presuming to 
decide where abler judges cannot agree. 


# Sec Burnet, History of his Own Times, vol. i. p. 393. 












Fainted, by Sir Feter Lely. 








































THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


“ Gracious to all, but where her love was due 
So fast, so faithful, loyal, just, and true; 

That a hold hand as soon might hope to force 
The rolling lights of heaven, as change her course.” 

Waller, 


Anne Djgby, Countess of Sunderland, succeeded to a title which 
had already been distinguished in the person of her mother-in-law, 
Dorothy Sidney, the first Countess of Sunderland, Waller’s cele¬ 
brated Sacharissa. The second Countess of Sunderland wore her 
honours with equal grace; she was equally beautiful and blameless, 
and she played a much more interesting and important part in the 
real game of life : but she had no poet to hymn her into fame, to 
immortalize her girdle, and even her waiting-maid,*—to render 
her name, like that of Sacharissa, a sweet and familiar sound to 
the fancy and the ear. The celebrity of the second Lady Sunder¬ 
land is of a very different kind; it has been dimmed by the breath 
of malice, and mixed up with the discord of faction * part of the 
obloquy which attended the political career of her husband fell on 
her, and party rancour added other imputations; but all evidence 
deserving of the slightest credit is in favour of the character and 
conduct of this accomplished woman,—the friend of the angelic 
Lady Russell and of the excellent Evelyn. 

* Waller’s Poems. * See his address to Sacharissa’s waiting-maid, Mrs. 
Broughton, beginning, “ Pair fellow-servant!” &c. 




238 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


Lady Anne Digby was the second daughter of George Digby, 
Earl of Bristol • her mother was Lady Anne Russell, daughter of 
Francis second Earl of Bedford, a woman of the most amiable 
character and unblemished life. Lord Bristol, who played a most 
conspicuous part in the civil wars, after the Restoration was one of 
the most remarkable characters of that time ; a compound of g’reat 
virtues and great vices, splendid talents and extravagant passions : 
such was his inconsistency of principle and conduct, that Walpole 
describes him as u one contradiction.” He appears, in fact, to 
have been deeply tinged with that eccentricity (to give it no 
stronger name) which characterized so many of his noble family in 
the seventeenth century. His property having been confiscated in 
the time of Cromwell, he resided abroad for several years, following* 
the various fortunes of his royal master. Clarendon tells us, that 
at this time he entered deeply into the libertine excesses of Charles’s 
vagabond court; u that he left no way unattempted to render 
himself gracious to the King, by saying and doing all that might 
be acceptable to him, and contriving such meeting’s and jollities as 
he was pleased with,” although he was at this time married, and 
the father of two daughters. His poor wife lived as well as she 
might, occasionally residing at Paris, but generally at the Hague 
or at Amsterdam; and while abroad, she married her eldest 
daughter, Lady Diana Dig'by, to a Flemish nobleman, the Baron 
Von Mall, of whom we know nothing farther. 

At the Restoration, Digby recovered his estates; he became a 
favourite at court, where his youngest daughter appeared with all 
the advantages which her father’s rank, her mother’s virtues, and 
her own beauty and vivacity could lend her. Lady Anne was at 
this time not quite seventeen, exceedingly fair, with a profusion of 
light brown tresses, tinged with a golden hue; she had a com¬ 
plexion of the most dazzling transparency, small regular features, 
and a slight delicate figure, yet with a certain dignity of presence 
which is said to have particularly distinguished the Digbys of that 
age. About the same time Robert Spencer, the young Earl of 
Sunderland, returned from his travels and appeared at court. Lie 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


2.39 


was tlie only son of Henry, tlie first Earl of Sunderland* and 
Dorothy Sidney, and was now about one-and-twenty, eminently 
handsome in person and full of talents and spirit. He fixed his 
affections on Lady Anne Digby, and to a match so suitable in 
years, rank, and in merit, there could be no objection ; but even 
here, when all the preliminaries were settled between the two great 
families with due pomp and ceremony, the course of true love 
was not destined to run smooth. The deeds were prepared, the 
wedding-clothes were bought,—even the day was fixed, yet the 
marriage had nearly been broken off. The Earl of Bristol, in 
consequence of some extravagance of language, was called up 
before the House of Commons to justify himself; he made a most 
eloquent speech, but with so much heat and gesticulation, that he 
was compared to a stage-player 5 and what was worse, his rhetoric 
did not appear to have much effect upon the Commons, while 
the Lords were incensed at his appearing before the other house 
without their express permission: in short, his disgrace or ruin 
was impending, and Lady Anne had nearly been the innocent 
victim of her father’s misconduct or indiscretion. 

In this state of things, those who envied her beauty and her 
good fortune, or hated her family, reported every where that the 
marriage was broken off,—that Lord Sunderland had gone out of 
town, after sending her u a release of all claim and title to her, and 
advice to his own friends not to inquire into the reasons for his 
conduct, for he had reason enough for it.” All this scandalous 
exaggeration, which Pepys gives us at full length, was merely u a 
weak invention of the enemy.” It is possible that Lord Sunder¬ 
land’s mother and his uncle, the Earl of Leicester, began to look 
coldly on the connexion 5 for the former entertained some jealousy 
of her daughter-in-law, and the latter disliked and opposed Lord 
Bristol: but Lord Sunderland did not leave London, nor did he 
remit his attentions to his chosen bride. After a little delay, the 

* Killed in the battle of Newbury at the age of twenty-three. See a most 
interesting memoir of this brave and accomplished nobleman in Lodge’s “ Portraits 
and Memoirs.” 


240 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


preparations and the courtship went forward as before ; and in the 
month of July ; 1GG3, the marriage was celebrated with more than 
usual magnificence. The four or five years which immediately 
followed her marriage, were probably the happiest of Lady Sunder¬ 
land’s life. Her husband was young, of a gay, magnificent spirit, 
full of talent and sensibility; and though he entered into the 
dissipation of the time, and unhappily contracted a passion for deep 
play, still his early love of literature, a natural elegance of mind, 
and above all, the affection of a beautiful and accomplished wife, 
whom he esteemed as well as loved, kept him for some time clear 
from the open profligacy and crooked politics of a court, where he 
was always well received, and where his countess took the place 
due to her rank and loveliness without entering into its follies. 
Most of their time was spent at Althorpe, and there, within the 
first four years of her marriage, Lady Sunderland became the 
mother of three children ; Robert Lord Spencer, born in 1664, and 
two daughters. 

They lived at this time with considerable magnificence, so regu¬ 
lated by the excellent sense and domestic habits of Lady Sunder¬ 
land, that they might long have continued to do so without injury 
to their splendid income, had not the earl’s unhappy predilection 
for gambling diminished his property, preyed on his spirits, and 
at length led him to play a more deep and ruinous game of 
political intrigue, in which he made shipwreck, not only of fortune 
and domestic happiness, but virtue, honour, fame, and all that man 
ought to cherish beyond life itself. 

He was appointed Ambassador to Spain in 1671 ; and the 
countess was preparing to follow him, when the ill success of the 
earl’s embassy, and his recall within a few months, prevented this 
intended journey. Lord Sunderland, on his return, being appointed 
Ambassador Extraordinary to the French court,* Lady Sunderland 

* “ October 8tli, 1074. I took leave of Lady Sunderland, who was going to 
Paris to my lord, now ambassador there. She made me stay dinner, and after¬ 
wards sent for Richardson, the famous fire-eater,” &c .—Evelyns Diary. 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


241 


joined him at Paris; they remained there together for about a 
year. From this time there was an end of Lady Sunderland’s 
domestic peace; her restless and ambitious husband became deeply 
involved in all those dark, disgraceful schemes of court policy 
which threatened the very foundation of English freedom. She 
had not even the consolation which belongs to many a wife whose 
husband treads the giddy path of ambition,—that of seeing her 
lord honoured and useful in his generation, and thus, in the grati¬ 
fication of her pride, finding some amends for disappointed love. 
Endued with splendid abilities of every kind, cultivated by study; 
with an intellect to comprehend the universe, to weigh the desti¬ 
nies and wield the resources of great nations ; with the most con¬ 
summate address, the most insinuating graces of manner, and with 
a knowledge of human nature, or rather of the world, allowed to 
be unrivalled,—with all these advantages Lord Sunderland united 
no generous feeling or patriotic principle, no elevated or enlarged 
views of policy. To obtain wealth, office, power for himself,— to 
baffle or betray his rivals,—to govern one king through his mis¬ 
tresses and his vices, and dupe another through his friendship 
and his virtues,—such were the objects he pursued. After being 
twice Prime Minister of England and at the summit of power; 
alternately the leader, the tool, and the victim of a party, this 
really accomplished but most miserable man sank into the grave, 
leaving behind a reputation for political profligacy, which happily 
has been more than redeemed by later statesmen of his family.* 

In the midst of many trials and anxieties, Lady Sunderland 
appears ever superior to her husband in sense, in virtue, and in 
feeling. All the notices of her scattered through Evelyn’s Diary, 
exhibit her uniformly in the most amiable and respectable light; 
he appears to have been the confidant of her secret charities, as 
well as of her domestic afflictions: on one occasion he notes in his 

* The history of Lord Sunderland’s political career, from 1671 to 1695, and of 
the double and treacherous part he played in the Revolution, may be found in all 
the records of that period as a tissue of venality, inconsistency, and falsehood, 
it is perhaps unexampled. 


242 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


Diary, that Lady Sunderland a gave him ten guineas to bestow 
in private charities/* (equal to thirty pounds at the present time.) 

In 1G86, when Lord Sunderland was Lord President of the 
Council, and principal Secretary of State, Evelyn writes to her 
in these terms : u I am not unmindful of the late command you 
laid upon me, to give you a catalogue of such boohs as I believed 
might be fit to entertain your more devout and serious hours; and 
I look upon it as a peculiar grace and favour of God to your lady¬ 
ship, that amidst so many temptations and grandeur of courts, the 
attendance, visits, diversions, and other circumstances of the palace, 
and the way you are engaged in, you are resolved that nothing* of 
all this shall interrupt your duty to God and the religion you pro¬ 
fess, wherever it comes in competition with the things of this 
world, how splendid soever they may appear for a little and (God 
knows !) uncertain time. Madame, it is the best and most grate¬ 
ful return you can make to Heaven for all the blessings you enjoy; 
amongst which is none you are more happy in than in the virtue, 
early and solid piety of my Lady Anne, and progress of your 
little son. Madame, the foundation you have laid in these two 
blessings will not only build, but establish your illustrious family, 
beyond all you can make of gallant and great in the estimation of 
the world/* &c. 

This letter does more honour to Lady Sunderland than to 
Evelyn. The sentiments are rather uncouthly expressed, but such 
sentiments never would have been addressed by Evelyn to a woman 
suspected of levity and hypocrisy. The little son he alludes to 
was her son Charles, the common ancestor of the Duke of Marl¬ 
borough and Earl Spencer. Her eldest son, early emancipated 
from her control, and unchecked by his father, plunged into every 
species of dissipation; she endeavoured to reform him by an early 
marriage, and proposed to unite him with the daughter of Sir 
Stephen Fox. She used Evelyn*s intervention in this affair ; but 
Sir Stephen was not well inclined to the match: he evidently dis¬ 
liked the character of the young* lord, but excused himself by 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 243 

pleading* the extreme youth of his daughter. The countess was 
deeply mortified and disappointed, but soon afterwards received a 
deeper blow in the death of her son, who died at Paris in his 
twenty-fourth year. In her second son Charles, afterwards Lord 
Spencer, Lady Sunderland sought and found consolation; he was 
in every respect a contrast to his brother, and, at the early age of 
fifteen, Evelyn alludes to him as a youth of extraordinary hopes, 
and of singular maturity of intellect. But it was Lady Sunder¬ 
land’s fate to suffer through the virtues as well as the vices of her 
nearest and dearest connexions; the trial and execution of her 
cousin, the excellent Lord Russell, and her husband’s cousin, 
Algernon Sidney, in 1G83, overwhelmed her with affliction. In 
one of her letters to Evelyn, she describes her own and her 
mother’s grief in strong and affecting terms. Her tenderness for 
her mother, Lady Bristol, was at all times truly filial: she now 
devoted herself to her comfort, and from this time the old lady 
spent most of her time in the society of her daughter, either at 
Althorpe or in London. 

Evelyn, in his Diary, gives an account of a visit which he paid 
to Lady Sunderland in 1G88. Having* invited him to Althorpe, 
she with true aristocratic magnificence provided a carriage and 
four to convey him from London, and all his expenses going and 
returning were defrayed by her command, although Evelyn was 
himself a man of large and independent fortune. He describes 
Althorpe, its beautiful park, its tasteful gardens, and noble gallery 
of pictures, in language which would serve for the present time,— 
u and all this,” he adds, u is governed by a lady who, without any 
show of solicitude, keeps every thing in such admirable order, both 
within and without, from the garret to the cellar, that I do not 
believe there is any in this nation, or in any other, that exceeds 
her in such exact order, without ostentation, but substantially 
great and noble. The meanest servant is lodged so neat and 
cleanly; the service at the several tables; the good order and 
decency,—in a word, the entire economy is perfectly becoming a 

r 2 


244 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


wise and noble person. She is one who, for her distinguished 
esteem of me, from a long and worthy friendship, I must ever 
honour and celebrate. I wish from my soul the lord her husband, 
whose parts and abilities are otherwise conspicuous, was as worthy 
of her, as by a fatal apostacy and court ambition he has made 
himself unworthy ! This is what she deplores, and it renders her 
as much affliction as a lady of great soul and much prudence is 
capable of. The Countess of Bristol, her mother, a grave and 
honourable lady, has the comfort of seeing' her daughter and 
grandchildren under the same economy.”* 

Lady Sunderland was the mother of seven children; three of 
them, a son and two daughters, had died in their childhood. The 
others, except Lord Spencer, appear to have been under the same 
roof with her at the period of Evelyn’s visit. Charles Spencer 
was pursuing his studies under an excellent and learned tutor. 
Her two eldest daughters, Lady Anne and Lady Elizabeth, were 
lately married, and are described as u admirable for their accom¬ 
plishments and virtue.” Lady Anne, now in her twenty-first 
year, was the wife of James Lord Arran, son of the Duke of 
Hamilton • Lady Elizabeth, who was scarcely seventeen, had just 
married Donogh Macarty, Earl of Clancarty, a handsome, dissi¬ 
pated, wrong-headed Irishman, of whom Evelyn remarks, a that 
he gave as yet no g'reat presage of worth.” He does not tell us 
what induced Lord and Lady Sunderland to bestow on him their 
youthful and lovely daughter, unless it was the earl’s u great and 
faire estate in Ireland.” 

In 1689, Lady Sunderland quitted her family to accompany her 
husband abroad ; at the Revolution, he was excepted from pardon 
both by William and James, and went to hide his head in Holland; 
there, after suffering the extremity of misery, he was arrested by 
order of the States, but soon afterwards liberated by the inter- 


* Evelyn’s Diary, vol. i. p. 613. 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


245 


position ol King* W illiam. On this occasion Lady Sunderland 
addressed to the King* the following* letter, partly the expression 
of gratitude, and partly of supplication. 

Lady Sunderland to King William III. 

“ Amsterdam, March 11th, 1689. 

“ The relief I had by your majesty’s justice and grace from the 
sharpest apprehensions that ever I lay under, may, I hope, be 
allowed a sufficient plea for the liberty I now take to present you 
my most humble acknowledgments for that great charity of 
yours; I dare not impute it to any other motive: but, however 
unfortunate my present circumstances are, I have this to support 
me, that my thoughts, as well as actions, have been and are, and 
I dare to say ever will be, what they ought to be to your majesty; 
and not only upon the account of the duty I now owe you, but 
long before your glorious undertaking, I can’t but hope you 
remember how devoted I was to your service, which was founded 
upon so many great and estimable qualities in you, that I can 
never change my opinion, whatever my fortune may be in this 
world; and may I but hope for so much of your majesty’s favour 
as to live quietly in a country where you have so much power, till 
it shall please God to let me end my days at my own home, I 

and humbly thankful.” 

Whatever may be thought of the humble tone and petitionary 
vehemence of this letter, the style is dignity itself compared to the 
utter prostration of mind which is exhibited in those of Lord 
Sunderland. The above letter I presume to have been enclosed in 
the following, addressed to Evelyn, and which I am enabled to 
give at length from the original autograph. # It is not the best 
specimen which might have been selected of Lady Sunderland’s 
epistolary style, but the circumstance under which it was written, 
and the sentiments contained in it, render it particularly inte¬ 
resting*. 


shall ever be most truly 


* In the Collection of Mr. Upcott. 


240 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


“ Amsterdam, March 12th, 16S9. 

u Under all the misfortunes I have gone through of late, I 
cannot but he sensible of that of not having; heard a word from 
you. Indeed, I have sometimes need of your letters, as well for 
to help me as pleas me : and indeed, my good friend, they do both; 
wherefore, pray make amends. I am sure you have heard of the 
unusual proceeding’ in} 7 lord met with in this country; but, by the 
King^s grace and justice, he is releast. I heer inclosed, send you 
a paper which was writ by yom* advice and another very good 
friend. If it he not what you like, I hope the sinceritye will make 
amends • for, indeed, it is exactly true, every tittle, I dare say. 
I thank God, my lord is come to a most comfortable frame of mind, 
and a serious consideration of his past life, which is so great a 
comfort to me, that I must call upon you, my good trend, to 
tlianke God for it, and to pray that I too may be truly thankfull. 
As to what relates to this world, we desire nothing but to live 
quietly in Holland, till it shall pleas God we may end our days at 
Althorpe : that were a great blessing to us; hut it will not he 
thought of such an inestimable price by others as we esteem it; 
and therefore, I hope in God 'twill not he envyed us. I am sure 
nothing else in our fortune deserves envy; and yet, having reduced 
my lord to the thoughts he has, it is for ever to be acknowledged 
by me to Almighty God, as the greatest of mercies. Pray for me, 
and love me, and let me hear from you. Do inclose your letters 
to this merchant. God send us a happy meeting ! Farewell! 

Yours, 

A. S." 

“ Pray remember to urge, that, desiring to live in Holand, till 
wee can be allowed to live at Althorpe, is neither a sign of a 
Frenchman nor a Papist ; and I thanke God my lord is neither. 
He has no pretensions, and will have none; and therefore interest 
cannot make him say it; but he never did anything but suffer it to 
be said, besides going to chapel, as hundreds did, who now value 
themselves for good Protestants. God knows that was so much 
to my soul’s grief; but more had been wrong* and I dare say 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


247 


he is most heartyly and most Cristianly sorry for what he has 
done.” 

In a postscript to this letter, she tells Evelyn that she has sent 
him some rare plants. Thus, in the midst of her own distresses, 
she could bear in mind the peculiar tastes and occupations of her 
friend : and when we recollect his character, and that he was a 
friend of thirty years’ standing-, we cannot suppose this trifling-, 
but delicate present, was intended to quicken Evelyn’s zeal in their 
behalf, or that it could have weig-hed for a moment with such a 
man. However this may be, Lord Sunderland’s contrition, his 
wife’s supplications, and the intercession of his friends, proved 
effectual. He was suffered to reside unmolested at Utrecht for 
some months, and obtained permission to return to England the 
following* year : but they were scarcely settled again at Althorpe, 
when the death of her favourite daughter, the young* Countess of 
Arran, (in 1090,) overwhelmed Lady Sunderland with affliction. 
Evelyn wrote her on this occasion a long letter of condolence, 
which may be found in his works.* 

Evelyn’s simple yet cordial testimony to the exemplary conduct 
and domestic virtues of Lady Sunderland, may well be placed 
against the malicious scandal of a party. The letters of the Prin¬ 
cess Anne to her sister the Princess of Orange, written at this 
period, allude to Lady Sunderland and her lord in terms of the 
most vulgar and virulent abuse but we must remember that, 

* Yol. ii. p. 290. 

t “ I cannot end my letter without telling you, that Lady Sunderland plays 
the hypocrite more than ever; for she goes to St. Martin’s morning and after¬ 
noon, because there are not people enough to see her at Whitehall chapel, and is 
half an hour before other people come, and half an hour after every body is gone, 
at her private devotions. She runs from church to church after the famousest 
preachers, and keeps such a clatter with her devotions, that it really turns one 
stomach. Sure there never was a couple so well matched as she and her good 
husband; for as she is the greatest jade that ever was, so is he the subtillest 
workingest villain that is on the face of the earth.” Lord Sunderland had lately 
declared himself a Roman Catholic, which probably made Lady Sunderland more 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


248 

besides her hatred and fear of Lord Sunderland, Anne had a 
private and personal reason for detesting* his wife. An intimate 
friendship existed between Lady Sunderland and Lady Churchill, 
afterwards the celebrated Duchess of Marlborough; and Anne, 
whose romantic attachment for Lady Churchill was now at its 
height, beheld in Lady Sunderland a rival in the affections of her 
favourite. Her letters have been quoted as authority against 
Lady Sunderland ; but besides that Anne was a weak tool, and 
a fond jealous friend, her evidence, suspicious under any circum¬ 
stances, is absolutely contradicted by the testimony of Evelyn, of 
Lady Lussell, and Lady Sunderland’s own letters.* In one of 

frequent and attentive in her public devotions; a little malignity would easily 
turn this against her, and a little exaggeration render it remarkable or ridiculous. 

* Of these there are about thirty in the collection of Mr. Upcott, through 
whose kindness I had an opportunity of looking over them. They extend 
through a period of about twenty years, and convey, on the whole, a most 
delightful impression of her character, of the strength of her domestic affections, 
and the sincerity of her attachments. 

In the very beautiful Life of Lady Russell, prefixed to the late edition of her 
letters, there is the following passage, (page 101.) “ Lady Sunderland’s letters 

to Lady Russell are not extant; hut the following expressions in her answer to 
one of them, ought to have forcibly struck Lady Sunderland from the pen of 
Lady Russell‘ So unhappy a solicitor as I was once for my poor self and 
family, my heart misgives me when I aim at anything of that kind any more.’ 
The rest of the letter proves, in the least offensive manner, that she was per¬ 
fectly aware of the flattering and insincere character of her correspondent.” 

On this passage I must remark, that the opinion against Lady Sunderland's 
sincerity has no foundation hut in the letters of Queen Anne, (quoted in the 
preceding note,) and, as Lady Sunderland’s historian, I must, in justice to her, 
place one or two passages from Lady Russell’s letters in contrast with the one 
above quoted. In 1689 she thus writes : “ I think I understand almost less than 
any body, yet I knew better things than to he weary of receiving what is so good 
as my Lady Sunderland’s letters ; or not to have a due regard of what is so 
valuable as her esteem and kindness, with her promises to enjoy it my whole 
life.” And again, in a letter written about 1692, she says, “ You have taken a 
resolution to be all goodness and favour to me : and, indeed, what greater mark 
can you almost give than remembering me so often, and letting me receive the 
exceeding advantage of your doing so, by reading your letters, which are all so 
edifying 1—when I know you are continually engaged in so great and necessary 
employments as you are, and have but too imperfect health, which, to any other 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


240 


these, addressed to Evelyn, she begs his prayers, his sympathy for 
her lord, who writhing* under conscious self-abasement, rejected by 
all parties, disgraced by the court, despised by the people, was in 
truth a pitiable object. u Forget not,” she says, u forget not my 
lord in your prayers for his conversion, which if I could see, I 
could with comfort live in any part of the world on very little.” 
She speaks of his penitence — his humiliation; and expresses a 
hope that he will be content to live with her in retirement: his 
latter years were indeed passed in retirement, hut not in content. 
Before he left the court for the last time, he was heard to say, that 
u there was no rack like what he had suffered.” This admission, 
coming from him in an agony, ought to be recorded as a legacy to 
those who view a the seals of office glitter in their eyes, and pant 
to grasp them !” 

Besides the friendship existing between Lady Sunderland and 
Lady Marlborough, there had been a constant interchange of 
kindness and good offices between the Earl of Sunderland and 
Lord Marlborough ] and in the year 1701 the two families were 
united by the marriage of Lord Spencer with Lady Anne 
Churchill, the second and favourite daughter of Marlborough. 
She was particularly endeared to her parents—not by beauty 
alone, but by the extreme sweetness of her disposition, and a 
maturity of judgment above her years: and Lady Sunderland, 
who was her godmother, appears to have regarded her with exceed¬ 
ing tenderness and admiration long before the idea of uniting her 
to her son could possibly have entered into her imagination. Lord 

in the world but Lady Sunderland, would unfit for at least so great dispatches 
as you are charged with. These are most visible tokens of Providence, that 
every one that aims to do their duty shall he enabled to do it.” (Lady Eussell 
to Lady Sunderland, Letters, pp. 252 — 302.) If Lady Eussell believed her 
correspondent to be an insincere and flattering woman, what shall we say of the 
sentiments here expressed ?—that Lady Sunderland could not go beyond them 
in flattery and insincerity. There is a long letter from Lady Sunderland to the 
Prince of Orange, a masterpiece of diplomatic obscurity and affectation, inserted 
in Dalrymple’s Memoirs, and there said to have been written under the dictation 
of her husband ; it cannot therefore be brought in evidence against her. 


250 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


Spencer was at this time in his thirtieth year; he had a fine person 
and an admirable understandings improved by early and assiduous 
study. “ He was remarkable/’ says the historian of Marlborough, 
“for a sedateness above his years; but in him ahold and impetuous 
spirit was concealed under a cold and reserved exterior.” Fresh 
from the study of Greek and Roman lore, he was almost a repub¬ 
lican in politics, and had distinguished himself in the House of 
Commons as an animated speaker in behalf of liberty in its best 
and largest sense. His deportment in private life was not winning: 
his father’s errors had thrown him into an opposite extreme, in 
manners as in principles; instead of the bland elegance of address 
which distinguished the earl, Lord Spencer, wishing to avoid even 
the shadow of adulation, was either haughty and unbending, or 
blunt and frank to a degree almost offensive. He had been married 
young to Lady Arabella Cavendish, daughter of the Duke of 
Newcastle, and had lost her in childbirth after a short but happy 
union; her death had thrown a gloom over his mind, adding to 
the habitual coldness and harshness of his manners. In spite of 
all these drawbacks, he interested Lady Anne Churchill; but his 
violent politics displeased her father, and Lady Marlborough, who, 
termagant as she was, doated on her children even while she 
tormented them, feared lest her daughter’s happiness should be 
sacrificed to a man of Lord Spencer’s cold, unaccommodating 
temper. All these difficulties, in time, gave way before the 
zealous, indefatigable exertions of Lady Sunderland, who knew 
what were the feelings of her son, and sympathized in them with a 
mother’s heart. She first won over Lady Marlborough, who pre¬ 
vailed on her husband to listen to the promise of the Earl of 
Sunderland, that his son should he guided in his public conduct by 
Lord Marlborough. The earl overrated his son’s docility, as it 
afterwards appeared; but for the present he prevailed, and the 
marriage was solemnized in January 1701, when Lady Anne was 
not quite sixteen. 

Thus Lady Sunderland had the satisfaction of ensuring the 
domestic happiness of her son in his union with a most amiable 


THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND. 


251 


and lovely woman, whose charms and tenderness soothed down his 
asperities, and she was spared the pain of witnessing* its early 
termination. This young* and adored wife and mother died in 1710, 
in her twenty-ninth year: a most affecting* proof of her ang*elic 
disposition and her devotion to her husband is preserved in the 
letter she wrote to be delivered to him after her death.* As her 
person was of a small size, as well as very beautiful, she became 
a favourite and fashionable toast with her husband’s party, under 
the title of the little Whig. Her son Charles became after¬ 
wards Duke of Marlboroug'h * and her son John, commonly called 
Jack Spencer, was the father of the first Earl Spencer. 

The second Earl of Sunderland died a broken-hearted man in 
1702; but his widow, the Dowag*er Lady Sunderland, survived 
him for several years, living* respected and beloved in the bosom of 
her family. At length she sank under the accumulated infirmities 
of ag*e, and expired at Althorpe, April 16, 1715. She had lived 
to see her accomplished son, the third Earl of Sunderland, Lord- 
Lieutenant of Ireland, Privy Seal, and Secretary of State ; and 
as distinguished by his patriotism and integrity, as by his talents; 
activity, and ambition. 

The picture, from which the portrait is engraved, is by Lely, 
and one of the u Beauties,” in the Windsor Gallery: it is 
remarkable for the exceeding* delicacy and tenderness of the exe¬ 
cution, and the lady-like sweetness and eleg*ance of the turn and 
expression. It has never before been engraved. 

* Coxe’s History of the Duke of Marlborough, vol. iii. p. 616. 


MBS. MIDDLETON. 


‘ Pictures like these, dear Madam, to design, 

Asks no firm hand and no unerring line ; 

Some wandering touches, some reflected light, 

Some flying touch, alone can hit them right.” 

Pope. 


It is evident, from the number of portraits which exist of this 
a Beauty” par excellence , and the frequent allusions to her in con¬ 
temporary memoirs, that she must have been a very admired and 
distinguished personage in her day ; yet of her family and life but 
little is ascertained, and that little is not interesting. She is one of 
the equivocal heroines of Be Grammont, and her brief history, as 
far as it is known, can hardly serve a to point a moral.” And yet 
what is to be done ?—to treat it seriously, were indeed to u break 
a butterfly upon a wheelshe fluttered through her day u with 
insect pinions opening to the sun;” and, apparently, whatever was 
most admirable and interesting* about her, has been preserved in 
the lovely pictures of her at Windsor and Althorpe. It is impos¬ 
sible to look on them without wishing to know who and what was 
the fair original. Yet if there had been no Lely, there would have 
been no Mrs. Middleton;—at least, we could have spared all that 
the pencil has not perpetuated. 

She was the daughter of Sir Roger Needham, a relation of the 
excellent and celebrated Evelyn; and married to Mr. Middleton, 




















MRS. MIDDLETON. 


253 


a man of good family but small fortune, of whom nothing is known 
but that he gave his name to a very beautiful coquette, who, under 
the shelter of that name, is said to have played some fantastic 
tricks. 

Mrs. Middleton was never attached to the court, nor had she 
rank or fortune to enable her to take any distinguished place there , 
but her charms, the admiration she inspired, her love of pleasure 
and her love of splendour, drew her within that brilliant but dan¬ 
gerous vortex. We find her associating habitually with many 
well known characters of her own sex, those who were distin¬ 
guished for correctness of conduct, as well as those who were 
notorious for the reverse ; and surrounded by admirers, the gayest 
and noblest cavaliers of that dissipated court. 

Among these was the Chevalier de Grammont: she appears to 
have been the first who attracted his notice after his arrival in 
England. u Then,” says his gay historiographer, a lettres et pre¬ 
sens trotterent—the first were answered, the last not rejected. 
But the lover en restait Id: the lady was not quite so facile as the 
gentleman expected. a II s’appergut que la belle prenait volontiers, 
mais qu’elle ne donnait que peu •” and, in his usual style, he seems 
to have taken pains to make himself hated where he failed in 
making himself loved. 

It appears, that in addition to her pretensions as a beauty, Mrs. 
Middleton affected the airs of a precievse. She talked as if she 
had just arrived from that fantastic land the pays du tendre , so 
minutely described with all its districts, its river d’inclination, and 
its various villages of jolis-vers , and petits-soins , &c. in the most 
famous romance of the time '* but though she sometimes put her 
lovers to sleep by discoursing in a strain of the most refined senti- 


* The Clelie of Mademoiselle de Scuderi. “There will be no talking to your 
sister when she has read Clelia, for the wise folks say it is the most improving 
book that can be read.”—See Lady Russell’s Life, p. 94. 


554 


MRS. MIDDLETON. 


mentalism, and discussing* mal-a-propos the most hig*h-flown 
maxims of Platonic gallantry, “the fair Madam Middleton/’ as 
Pepys calls her, is not accused of suffering her adorers to perish 
through an excess of cruelty. How the lively He Grammont 
could possibly have been captivated by a woman “ qui ennuyait en 
voulant briber,” we are not told: perhaps her indolent, languid 
beauty charmed him by force of contrast with the beauties he had 
left behind in France. However this may be, her trifling appears 
to have at length exasperated him * and finding, after awhile, that 
he had more than one competitor,—that young Ralph Montagu 
(afterwards Duke of Montagu) and Dick Jones (the celebrated 
Lord Ranelagh) were not only rivals, but, as he had reason to 
suspect, successful rivals, he was preparing for his faithless, or 
rather his ungrateful mistress, the most signal vengeance which 
his ingenious, indefatigable, and malicious nature could devise; 
when, happily for poor Mrs. Middleton, he encountered a more 
powerful charmer, and both his love and his despite were driven 
out of his eddying brain by the all-conquering attractions of La 
Belle Hamilton. 

It is said that the Duke of York also admired Mrs. Middleton, 
(which may account for her picture being* at Windsor;) and 
William Russell, brother to the Earl of Bedford, was another of 
her adorers: but he too transferred his allegiance from this indo¬ 
lent, alluring coquette, to the lively, g’raceful, elegant Miss 
Hamilton. 

De Grammont says of his ci-devant flame, that the ambition of 
appearing a wit, u ne lui a donne que la reputation d’ennuyeuse, 
qui subsistait long-temps apres sa beaute.” It must, then, have 
existed a long while, for nearly twenty years after this period, in 
1083, she paid Evelyn a visit, in company with her old admirer 
Colonel Russell; and Evelyn mentions her as that “ famous and 
indeed incomparable beauty Mrs. Middleton.” Neither, as I 
think, should we entirely trust to the fidelity of De Grammont’s 
portrait of her : he was a malicious disappointed lover, and Hamil- 


MRS. MIDDLETON. 


ton, who records it, a satirist by profession. Pepys says, that 
Evelyn described Mrs. Middleton to him as fond of painting’, and 
excelling* in it • a pursuit which speaks her not quite the indolent, 
inane creature which others represent her. 

In one of the letters of Dorothy Lady Sunderland,* (Waller’s 
Sacharissa,) she thus alludes incidentally to Mrs. Middleton, 
“ Mrs. Middleton and I have lost old Waller ; he is g*one away 
frightened from which it appears that the poet, in his old ag-e, 
had enlisted himself in the train of her admirers. 

With this “ famous beauty,” as with others of her class, a youth 
of folly was succeeded by an old ag-e of cards. She became one 
of the society of the Duchess of Mazarin,f whose house at Chelsea 
was maintained on the footing- of one of the modern gambling- 
houses, with this exception, that it was the resort of the dissipated 
and extravagant of both sexes . Many of the women who were 
occasionally seen in this society, were women of amiable character 
and spotless reputation, led thither by fashion, and the lax opinions 
and habits of the time ; and probably more attracted by the fas¬ 
cinating manners of the duchess, and the wit and gaiety of St. 
Evremond, and by the Ci petits soupers ou regnait la plus grande 

* Letters from the Countess of Sunderland to the Earl of Halifax, published 
at the end of Lady Russell’s Life and Letters. 

f The too celebrated Hortense Mancini, whose story is well known. She 
arrived in England in 1676, and lived on a pension of 40007 a-year, granted her 
by Charles II. This sum was inadequate to supply her capricious extravagance, 
and her propensity to gambling ; and after a life of strange vicissitudes and 
wanderings over half Europe, she died at Chelsea in 1699, and her body was 
immediately seized and detained by her creditors. In her youth she had amused 
herself with throwing handfuls of gold out of her window into the court-yard 
below, merely for the diversion of seeing the valets and grooms scramble for it ; 
in her old age she was reduced frequently to want the means of subsistence, and 
to be indebted to her devoted friend St. Evremond for a few hundreds, (which lie 
could ill spare,) to meet the necessities and distresses of the moment. The best 
account of this extraordinary woman, “this famous beauty and errant lady,” as 
Evelyn styles her, may be found in Miss Berry’s delightful book, “ The Com¬ 
parative View of Society in England and France,” p. 227. 


25G 


MRS. MIDDLETON. 


liberte du monde et un egale discretion/’ (if we may trust St. 
Evremond,) than by the bassette-table. It appears, for instance, 
that Lady Rochester, Lady Arlington, the Duchess of Grafton, 
Lady Derby, were visitors, if not habituees ; but Mrs. Middleton 
was one of the latter. Among* the occasional poems of St. Evre- 
mond there is a little piece which he entitles, u Une Scene de Bas- 
sette,” in which the interlocutors are Mrs. Middleton, Madame 
Mazarin, and Mr. Villiers. La Middleton is discussing with 
Yilliers the charms of some rival beauties :— 

Mrs. Middleton. 

“ Dites nous qui des deux vous semble la plus belle 
De Mesdames Grafton et Litchfield ?*—laquelle ? 

Mr. Yilliers. 

Commencez : dites nous, Madame Middleton, 

Yotre vrai sentiment sur Madame Grafton. 

Mrs. Middleton. 

De deux doigts seulement faites-la moi plus grande, 

II faut qu’a sa beaute toute beaute se rende. 

Mr. Yilliers. 

L’autre n’a pas besoin de cette faveur-la. 

Mrs. Middleton. 

Elle est grande, elle est droite— 

Mr. Yilliers. 

Apres cela ? 

Mrs. Middleton. 

Madame Litchfield un pen plus animee 

De tout ceux qu’elle voit se verrait fort aimee,” &c. 

After some farther discourse, equally pointless, Madame Mazarin, 
enraged at her ill-luck at the bassette-table, and the interruption 
which this silly conversation causes to the more serious business 
of the evening, angrily attacks Mrs. Middleton: 

* Lady Isabella Bennet, Duchess of Grafton; and Charlotte Eitzroy, Countess 
of Litchfield, natural daughter of Charles II. by the Duchess of Cleveland.—See 
pp. 90, 91, of this work. 


MES. MIDDLETON. 


257 


“ Vos beaus discours d’appas, de grace, de beaute, 

Nous content notre argent—il ne m’est rien reste,” &c. 

And Mrs. Middleton replies in a pique • 

“ Nous n’avons pas appris a garder le silence 
Comme vous avez fait dans vos couvens de France, 

Monsieur, Monsieur Villiers, allons nous consoler; 

II est d’autres uiaisons, ou l’onpourra parler.” 

The exact date of Mrs. Middleton’s death is unknown, hut it 
probably took place between 1685 and 1690 ; and while she could 
still eclipse younger beauties by her mature but unrivalled attrac¬ 
tions. St. Evremond lamented her in a monody,* not worth 
transcribing- :—but his epitaph on her is rather graceful: it is as 
follows: 

“ Ici git Middleton, illustre entre les belles, 

Qui de notre commerce a fait les agremens. 

Elle avait des yertus pour les amis fideles, 

Et des cbarmes pour les amants. 

Malade sans inquietude, 

Kesolue a mourir sans peine, sans effort, 

Elle aurait pft faire l’etude 
D’un philosophe sur la mort. 

Le plus indifferent, le plus dur, le plus sage 
Prennent part au malheur qui nous afflige tous 
Passant, interromps ton voyage, 

Et te fais im merite a pleurer avec nous.” 

There are many pictures of Mrs. Middleton, but the two most 
beautiful are those at Windsor and at Althorpe, both by Sir Peter 
Lely; the first represents her with the insignia of bounty or abun¬ 
dance, and the latter as Pandora opening her casket of evils. 
Whether the artist intended in either case to be significant or 
satirical, is uncertain. At Elvastone, in Derbyshire, the seat of 
the Earl of Harrington, there is another exquisite picture of Mrs. 
Middleton. The portrait which has been engraved for this collec- 


* “ Stances irreguliers sur la Mort de Madame Middleton .”—(Euvres de St. 
Evremond, tom. i. p. 92. 


S 


258 


MRS. MIDDLETON. 


tion, is in the Windsor Gallery. It is distinguished by exceeding- 
brilliance and harmony of colour ; the face is beautiful, hut not of 
a high order of beauty; it has that fulness of form and very sweet 
but somewhat heavy expression, which belong-ed to the character 
of the woman; the complexion is fair but richly blooming*, and 
painted with transparent delicacy of touch. The drapery is of a 
pale amber-colour relieved with white. 

This picture has been eng-raved in mezzotinto, with the erroneous 
title of Lady Middleton. There is also a fine print of her, a full- 
leng-th, after Lely, properly designated as Madam Jane Middleton : 
and the beautiful picture at Althorpe has been eng-raved for Dr. 
Dibdin’s JEdes AltJwrpian/r. 













































































THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


“ Court virtues bear, like gems, the highest rate, 

Born where Heaven’s influence scarce can penetrate. 

In life’s low vale (the soil the virtues like) 

They please as beauties,—here, as wonders strike ; 

Though the same sun, with all-diffusive rays, 

Blush in the rose and in the diamond blaze, 

We prize the stronger effort of his power, 

And justly set the gem above the flower.” 

Pope. 

v *■■••?#***» 

.. . : 


This Countess of Northumberland, the wife of the last male heir of 
the Percies, and afterwards of an ambassador and minister of 

-> y - • 

m ^ « 

state^ did not; from accidental circumstances; mingle much in the 
court of Charles II.; nor ; from her mild unpresuming nature; was 
she personally influential in any of the private state intrigues of 
that time; but she was distinguished for her uncommon grace and 
beauty and her blameless life; no less than by her high rank and 
her descent from one of the most illustrious characters in our 
history • above all; she was the sister of Lady Russell. The 
frequent allusions to her in the memoirs and letters of that 
admirable woman; are sufficient to throw a peculiar interest round 
Lady Northumberland; and give her an importance in our eyes 
beyond what her own rank and beauty could have lent her. 

Elizabeth Wriothesley was the youngest daughter of the Lord 

s 2 




2G0 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


Treasurer Southampton,* by his second wife Lady Elizabeth 
Leigh,! daughter and sole heiress of the Earl of Chichester, She 
was born about the year 1047. The eldest sister, Lady Audrey, 
was betrothed to Josceline Lord Percy, son of Algernon tenth 
Earl of Northumberland 5 but before the arrangements were com¬ 
pleted, the bride elect died in her fourteenth year.J Lady 
Elizabeth thus remained sole heiress to the estates of her maternal 
grandfather Lord Chichester, and her name was substituted for 
that of Lady Audrey in the marriage contract with Lord Percy, 
apparently without any reference to the wishes or feelings of 
either party. In the year 1 G 02 , when she was about fifteen, and 
Lord Percy not quite eighteen, the marriage was duly solemnized : 
such early marriages were usual in those times, but, as Lady 
Russell observes, it was acceptance rather than choice, on either 
side. Yet being generally arranged by the parents, with a refe¬ 
rence to fitness of rank, age, temper, education, and a regard for 
the future happiness of their children, many of these conventional 
unions might be mentioned as examples of conjugal felicity: that 
of Lady Elizabeth appears to have been almost without alloy 
during its short duration. 


For about two years after their marriage, the young bride and 
bridegroom did not live much together. Lord Percy pursued his 
studies and exercises under the care of a tutor, and Lady Percy 
resided with her own family at Titchfield, in Hampshire; but in 
1004 and 1005, we find her residing at Petworth with her 
husband, and hence her affectionate letters to her sister Lady 

* Thotnas fourth Earl of Southampton, so celebrated for his talents, his 
loyalty, aud his unimpeachable integrity. He was the grandson of that Earl of 
Southampton who was the friend of Essex, and, what is more, the friend and 
patron of Shakspeare. 

t Lord Southampton’s eldest daughter by his first wife, (Rachel de Rouvigny,) 
had also been christened Elizabeth, She married Edward Noel, eldest son of 
Baptist Lord Campden, and afterwards the first Earl of Gainsborough. 

J The Earl of Northumberland, in a letter to Lord Leicester, dated Nov. 2, 
expresses his deep regret for the death of Lady Audrey, “ because she was of a 
nature, temper, and humour likely to make an excellent wife.” 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


201 


Rachel are dated.* Her eldest daughter, Lady Elizabeth, was 
born in 1GG0 • in 1GG8 she gave birth to a son and heir, Henry 
Lord Percy, and in the year following she had another daughter, 
Lady Henrietta, who died an infant. 

Her husband succeeded to his father’s titles and possessions in 
1GG8, and became the eleventh Earl of Northumberland, but he 
did not long enjoy these honours. In the following year he lost 
his infant son, and the death of this boy, which occurred soon 
after her confinement, made so deep and painful an impression on 
the mind of his mother, that the earl determined on making a tour 
to the Continent as the best means of diverting her grief; and 
accordingly they set off for Paris, attended by the philosopher 
Locke as their physician. For reasons which do not appear, but 
probably from the delicate state of the countess, her husband left 
her at Paris under the care of Locke, and proceeded alone to 
Italy: having reached Turin, he was seized with a fever which 
terminated fatally. He died May 21, 1670, in his twenty-seventh 
year ,— u in the midst of the brightest hopes which this promising 
young nobleman had excited in the breasts of all good men, that 
he would prove a shining ornament of his noble house, and an 
honour to his country,” &c. 

So far the peerag*e; we are not told of the grief of his widow, 
but we may believe it to have been poignant and sincere, since it 
for some time totally changed her appearance, and so dimmed the 
native beauty of her cheek, as to give her, at the age of four-and- 
twenty, a look of faded and premature age. 

Not that she was absolutely inconsolable; grief in the young 
heart either kills at once or is quickly cured, and eternal sorrow is 
at least as rare as everlasting love. She continued to reside at 
Paris, where Ralph Montagu, the English ambassador, paid her 
every attention that could be offered in her afflicted state: these 
attentions, after a while, awakened a corresponding gratitude in 

* See the Life of Lady Russell, p. 18. 


262 


TI1E COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


the bosom of the lady, and Montagu began to cherish hopes that 
attentions of different kinds, and with different views, might some 
time or other prove acceptable.* 

Ralph Lord Montagu, afterwards Earl and Duke of Montagu, 
had been appointed ambassador to the French court in 1669. He 
was a man of splendid habits, eager and insatiable in acquiring 
wealth, and not very scrupulous, it is said, with regard to the 
means; but liberal to others, magnificent and even lavish in his 
expenditure.'}' He had transcendent abilities as a statesman, and 
possessed a cultivated and refined taste in the arts, particularly 
painting and architecture. De Grammont describes him as u peu 
dangereux pour sa figure/’ but almost irresistible from his fasci¬ 
nating manners, his assiduity, and his vivacity. About two years 
after her first lord’s death, Montagu began to pay Lady North¬ 
umberland marked devotion. He followed her to Aix in the winter 
of the year 1672. Madame de Sevigne was then in Provence on 
a visit to her daughter, and Madame de la Fayette thus writes to 
her from Paris : a Voila un paquet que je vous envoie pour Ma¬ 
dame de Northumberland. On dit ici que si M. de Montagu n’a 
pas un heureux succes de son voyage, il passera en Italie, pour faire 
voir que ce n’est pas pour les beaux yeux de Madame de North¬ 
umberland qu’il court le pays: mandez nous un peu ce que vous 
verrez de cette affaire, et connne il sera traite.” This is an amusing 
instance of that excessive vanity which characterized Montagu. It 
would have been interesting to learn what Madame de Sevigne 

* In the Life of James II. occurs the following entry, which I am unable 
farther to elucidate. “ July 13,1G72. Buckingham proposed to the King to get 
Lady Percy (the infant heiress of Earl Josceline) for Lord Harry, (the king’s 
natural son, afterwards Duke of Grafton). Buckingham at the same time offered 
to the Countess of Northumberland, to get the King to consent that he should 
command the Duke of York to marry her.” 

t His want of principle in money matters, (and also in other matters,) was 
contrasted with exceeding generosity and high feeling in particular cases: for 
instance, when he regained by a law process an estate which had been illegally 
wrested from his family, he remitted to the defendant, Lord Preston, the arrears 
and costs of suit, thinking the loss of the estate sufficient. —Sec Granger. 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


263 

thought ot the fair lady, and of the treatment the lover met with, 
but unhappily her reply is not extant. We may presume that he 
was not driven to despair ; as we find that he followed the countess 
back to Paris, and was there with her in April 1673. She is 
again mentioned in a letter from Madame de la Fayette to Madame 
de Sevigne, from which it appears that her beauty, withered by 
recent sorrow and self-neglect, did not dazzle the lively French¬ 
woman, and that her quiet but amiable disposition, joined to a want 
of command of the French language, prevented her from producing 
much effect in society. 

u Madame de Northumberland me vint voir liier ; j’avais ete la 
chercher avec Madame de Coulanges: elle me parut une femme 
qui a ete fort belle, mais qui n’a plus un seul trait de visage qui se 
soutienne, ni oii il soit reste le moindre air de jeunesse: j’en fus 
surprise 5 elle est avec cela mal habillee, point de grace, enfin je 
n’en fus point de tout eblouie. Elle me parut entendre fort bien 
tout ce qu’on dit, ou pour mieux dire tout ce que je dis, car j’etais 
seule. M. de la Rochefoucauld et M. de Thianges, qui avaient 
envie de la voir, ne vinrent que comme elle sortait. Montagu 
m’avait mande qu’elle viendrait me voir, je lui ai fort parle d’elle ; 
il ne fait aucune fay on d’etre embarque a son service, et parait 
tres rempli d’esperance.” 

This letter is dated from Paris, April 15, 1673. It is a pity 
we have not on record the whole course of a wooing which, not¬ 
withstanding the gentle temper of the lady, and the tact and 
assiduity of the lover, seems to have been diversified in the usual 
style. Lady Northumberland was jealous of the Duchesse de 
Brissac, to whom Montagu was formerly attached • and Madame 
de la Fayette thus writes to her friend about a month after the date 
of her last letter. u Montagu s’en va; on dit que ses esperances 
seront renversees: je crois qu’il y a quelque chose de tracers dans 
Y esprit de la nymphe.” 

It happened, however, that just at this time Montagu was so 


TIIE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


264 

far from being* a dismissed or despairing* lover, that he was on the 
eve of success: he won the heart of the young* countess, and, in 
the same year, (1673,) they came to England privately, and were 
married at Titchfield in Hampshire, the family seat of the A\ rio- 
thesleys. It appears that she afterwards recovered those attrac¬ 
tions for which she had been distinguished in early youth \ for 
Evelyn alludes to her, eight or ten years afterwards, as u the most 
beautiful Countess of Northumberland.” 

In 1675 she was in England, and for some years afterwards she 
was involved in troubles relative to the disposal of her only 
daughter by the Earl of Northumberland.* The dowag*er-countess, 
who appears to have been a meddling*, jealous old woman, demanded 
to have the entire charge and disposal of the young* heiress on her 
mother’s second marriage. Lady Russell, ever right in judgment 
as kind in heart, alludes to this affair in one of her letters to her 
husband. a The two Lady Northumberlands have met at North¬ 
umberland-House, after some propositions offered by my sister to 
the other, which were discoursed first yesterday before my Lord 
Chancellor, between the elder lady and Mr. Montagu: Lord 
Suffolk, by my sister, offers to deliver up the child, upon condition he 
will promise she shall have her on a visit for ten days or a month 
sometimes, and that she will enter bonds not to marry the child 
without her mother’s consent, nor till she is of years to consent; 
and on her part, Mr. Montagu and she will enter into the same 
bonds, that when she is with them, at no time they will marry or 
contract any marriage for her without the grandmother’s consent: 
but she was stout yesterday and would not hear patiently, yet 
went to Northumberland-House and gave my sister a v isit: I hope 
for an accommodation. My sister urg’es, it is hard that her child 
(that if she has no other children must be her heir) should be 
disposed of without her consent, and in my judgment it is hard ; 
yet I fancy I am not very apt to be partial.” 

* See the preceding memoir of this celebrated heiress, afterwards Duchess 
of Somerset, p. 1G8. 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


205 


It was in truth a hardship, and Lady Northumberland felt it and 
resisted it as such; but the old dowager contrived at length to get 
Lady Elizabeth completely into her hands, and made her the subject 
of constant intrigues with men of power who wished for wealth, and 
rich men who wished for rank and power. The premature marriage 
ot Lady Elizabeth with the famous Tom Thynne, of Longleat, is 
known to have taken place through the manoeuvres of her grand¬ 
mother, and against the consent of her mother. 

Between 1675 and 1078, Lady Northumberland and Lord 
Montagu were in England, and Montagu commenced the build¬ 
ing of Montagu-House, # on the decoration of which he lavished 
immense sums. Their married life was not all sunshine; for 
Montagu, besides being* deeply and disgracefully involved in the 
state intrigues of that period, was a dissipated man of pleasure. 
Lady Northumberland, who had endowed him with her wealth, 
appears to have derived no pride nor pleasure from his political 
exaltation : and, left to herself in his frequent absences, she pined 
in the midst of her splendour for calmer and more domestic happi¬ 
ness. In the year 1678, Charles (the habitual scoffer at all 
religion) ordered Montagu to find out and consult, in his name, 
a certain astrologer at Paris, in whom he put great faith. 
Montagu found the man, and saw that he was capable of being 
corrupted by money. He therefore prompted him to give such 
hints to the King as should serve his own ends. At the same 
time he was carrying on an intrigue with that mischievous and 
abandoned woman the Duchess of Cleveland, and had the folly 
and weakness to trust her with this affair of the astrologer. She 
afterwards, in a fit of ill humour and jealousy, vowed his ruin * 
and although she had long* been dismissed from the court and 
from the King’s affections, she had still sufficient art and power 
to accomplish this object. She sent over to Charles a detailed and 
exaggerated account of Montagu’s transactions with the astro- 

* It was burnt down in 1685, and Montagu immediately began to rebuild it 
with more cost and splendour than before. It is now the British Museum. 


266 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


log’er 5 in consequence of which he was disgraced, and Lord 
Sunderland succeeded him in his embassy. Montag'u then re vended 
himself, by entering* into a secret intrigue with Louis XIY. for 
the removal of the Lord Treasurer Danby, who was exceedingly 
obnoxious to the French government, and opposed the Roman 
Catholic interest. For the ruin of Lord Danby, (to be accom¬ 
plished within a given time,) Montagu asked the sum of one 
hundred thousand crowns, or an annuity of forty thousand livres 
for life. This infamous bargain was duly fulfilled, on one side at 
least 3 Dauby was disgraced, and sent to the Tower, but Montagu 
only received half the stipulated sum from the French govern¬ 
ment.* He was afterwards in opposition to the court, and voted 
for the Exclusion Bill, which gave unpardonable offence ; and in 
1680 he retired to France, whither Lady Northumberland fol¬ 
lowed him. She was not of a temper or character to be a 
participator in these transactions; but she had an ample share in 
the distress and degradation to which they led, and their effect on 
the haughty, restless, and excitable temper of her husband, neces¬ 
sarily re-acted on her and her happiness. From several slight 
allusions to her in the letters of Lady Russell and Lady Sunder¬ 
land, she appears to have suffered much from ill health * to have 
passively, or at least patiently, endured her husband’s infidelities, 
and never to have interfered with his political intrigues. 

They resided unmolested at Paris for several years, and were 
there during the trial and execution of Lord Russell. So that 
Lady Northumberland was not near her sister in the hour of 
affliction ; neither had she, though tenderly devoted to her, a mind 


* He was, moreover, reduced to the necessity of making repeated and humiliat¬ 
ing applications for the money, at the risk of a discovery, which would have 
endangered his head. See the letter from the Duchess of Cleveland to Charles 
II., which ruined Montagu with the King, given at full length in the “ Compa¬ 
rative View of Society in England and France and the history of Montagu’s 
subsequent intrigues with the French court, in Barillon’s despatches to Louis 
XIV. See also Burnet’s History, vol. ii. p. 25. 


TIIE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


267 


sufficiently strong* to afford support and consolation to one who, 
in feeling* and in intellect, was so much her superior. 

In Lady Russell’s Letters from 1685 to 1690, the following* 
notices ot Lady Northumberland occur. The first alludes to the 
revocation of the edict of Nantes by Louis XIV. 

u I read a letter last nig*ht from my sister at Parisj she writes, 
as every body who has humane affections must, and says that, of 
1,800,000, there is not more than ten thousand (Protestants) 
esteemed to be left in France; and they, I g*uess, will soon be 
converted by the drag*oons, or perish.” 

lltli July, 1686. a I hear by my sister Montagu, she found a 
sickly family at Paris \ her daughter in a languishing* condition, 
worn to nothing with a fever, which has hung about her for the 
last six weeks. The doctors apprehend a hectic, but youth, I 
hope, will overcome it.” The allusion is to her only daughter by 
Montagu, who is afterwards frequently mentioned in Lady Rus¬ 
sell’s letters, and seems to have been often on a visit with her. 

Within a year afterwards, Lady Northumberland lost her eldest 
son at the age of twelve. u I believe she takes it heavily,” writes 
Lady Russell, u for truly I have not seen her since the child died 
on Sunday morning .”— a Now my own sad trials making me know 
what a mean comforter I can be, I think the best service is to 
take some care of her two children, who are both well now; and I 
hope God will be pleased to keep them so, and teach her to be 
content.”* 

After this affliction, Lady Northumberland retired to Windsor, 
and continued to reside there for some time. The delicate health 
of her children seems to have been a constant source of uneasiness 
to her. She had now (1687) one a fine lovely boy,” (for so Lady 


* Letter xlii. 


2G8 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


Russell designates him,) and of her two daughters, tlie eldest. 
Lady Percy, was Duchess of Somerset j* the young'est, Anne 
Montagu, who was about fourteen, was a slight, fair girl, wliose 
health caused her much anxiety; hence the frequent allusions to 
these children, and prayers for their preservation, which occur in 
Lady Russell’s letters. In 1688, Montagu, who had always been 
a zealous friend of liberty,'!' was one of the chief promoters of the 
Revolution ’ and being created an earl by King William, Lady 
Northumberland dropped her first husband’s title, and is thence¬ 
forth styled Countess of Montagu. 

In the following year, the attainder of Lord Russell being 
reversed, his execution was formally denounced as murder by the 
House of Commons, and a committee appointed to discover and 
examine those who were the advisers and promoters of it. The 
proceedings on this occasion appear to have deeply agitated his 
widow, and renewed all the bitterness of those regrets which the 
lapse of six years had in some respect softened. Having given so 
many passages of Lady Russell’s letters expressive of her afFection 
for her sister, it is pleasing to see how truly that affection was 
returned : a melancholy letter from Lady Russell to the countess 
di *ew from her this tender reply : 

Lady Montagu to Lady Russell. 

“ Botjghton, Dec. 23, 1689. 

u I am very sorry, my dear sister, to find by yours, which I 
received by the last post, that your thoughts have been so much 
disturbed with what I thought ought to have some contrary effect. 
It is very true, what is once taken from us in that nature can 
never he returned; all that remains of comfort, (according to my 
temper,) is the bringing to punishment those who were so wickedly 
and unjustly the cause of it. I confess it was a great satisfaction 

* See p. 169, of this work. 

t So the biographies,—perhaps we should rather say a zealous enemy of the 
court in which he had been disgraced. 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


209 


to me to hear that was the public care ; it being* so much to the 
honour, as well as what in justice was due to your dead lord, that 
I do not doubt, when your sad thoughts will give you leave to 
recollect, you will find comfort. I heartily pray God you may, 
and that you may never have the addition of any other loss, which 
is, and ever shall be, the prayers of 

Your entirely affectionate, 

E. Montagu.” 

Boughton, in Northamptonshire, whence this letter is dated, 
was the family seat of the Montagu’s; and Lord Montagu was 
now engaged in enlarging and embellishing the house, and planting 
and decorating the grounds with his characteristic taste and 
enthusiasm, and indifference to expense. After the Revolution, 
much of their time was spent there.* In the beginning of 1690, 
the health of the Countess of Montagu visibly declined, and in 
September following she died at Boughton, in her forty-fourth 
year. 


Lady Bussell thus feelingly alludes to her death: u She was 
my last sister, and I ever loved her tenderly. It pleases me to 
think that she deserves to he remembered by all those who knew 
her: hut after forty years’ acquaintance with so amiable a creature, 
one must needs, in reflecting, bring to remembrance so many 
engaging endearments as are at present embittering and painful.”| 

To this simple eulogium nothing need be added. Lady Mon¬ 
tagu had four children by her second husband; her two eldest 
sons, Ralph and Win wood, died young, one son and one daughter 
survived her : her son John Montagu, Lord Monthermer, became 
second Duke of Montagu after the death of his father in 1709; he 

* Boughton is the property of the present Lord Montagu. When the Duke 
of Marlborough visited Boughton, he expressed great admiration of the water¬ 
works. “But they are not comparable to your Grace’s fire-works /” replied 
Montagu with a bow and a smile. 

t Letter to the Bishop of Salisbury, dated Oct. 1G, 1G90. 


270 


THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND. 


married the youngest daughter of the great Duke of Marlborough. 
Lady Anne Montagu married Alexander Popham, Esq. of Little- 
cotes^ Wiltshire ; and secondly, Lieutenant-General Hervey. 

After the death of the Countess of Montagu, the earl, whose 
splendid tastes and extravagant habits had brought him into some 
difficulties, determined to repair his fortunes by marrying another 
heiress. Elizabeth Cavendish, daughter of Henry Duke of New¬ 
castle, and widow of the last Duke of Albemarle, possessed 
immense riches by marriage and inheritance. The pride of wealth, 
rank, and grandeur, seems to have disordered intellects naturally 
weak, and she declared she would give her hand only to a sovereign 
prince. It is a fact, that Montagu wooed her and won her in the 
character of the Emperor of China. He afterwards kept her in a 
sort of confinement in Montagu-House, still without undeceiving 
her; and she was always served on the knee as Empress of China. 
She died of mere old age in 1738. 

The portrait of the Countess of Northumberland is engraved 
after the picture at Windsor. I suppose it to have been painted 
after her second marriage, for it does not represent her in the 
bloom of youth, and has more of elegance and dignity than of 
beauty; the complexion is fair, and the expression all sweetness. 
The position of the right arm is rather stiff * yet Lely appears to 
have been fond of this attitude, for he has repeated it in other 
pictures: the drapery is of a rich brown. The back-ground, which 
is a fine bit of woodland landscape, with a waterfall in the distance, 
is admirably painted. 




















I>4 


THE DUCHESS OE PORTSMOUTH. 


i - 
y , - 

“Her birth, her beauty, crowds and courts confess, 
Chaste matrons praise her, and grave bishops bless ; 
In golden chains the willing world she draws, 

And hers the Gospel is—and hers the laws; 

Mounts the tribunal, lifts her scarlet head, 

And sees pale Virtue carted in her stead ! 

Lo! at the wheels of her triumphant car 
Old England’s genius, rough with many a scar, 
Dragg’d in the dust!” 

Pope. 


This is a name disgracefully celebrated, but only a small portion of 
that disgrace can justly rest upon her who bore it. The period of 
her reign, for so it may be called, is historically infamous, but the 
least part of that infamy, rests upon the woman herself. If we 
could tear from the chronicles of our country that leaf which bears 
the name of Louise de Queroualle, it were well; but since this 
cannot be, we ought not to close our eyes to its import, for it 
conveys a deep lesson. It is impossible to study history without 
admitting, that the political influence of women has been great in 
all ages ; it has been modified by the difference of manner and the 
degree of intelligence,—it has been more or less ostensible, more 
or less mischievous,—but at all times it has been great, and it 
increases with the progress of civilization and the diffusiou of 
knowledge. It is not in these days that we are to listen to common- 





THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


places out of the Spectator and the Ecolc des Femmes. Let it be 
granted, that u women are formed for private life alone but in 
that privacy—in our nurseries and boudoirs, are inculcated and 
directed the principles and opinions of those men who are to legis¬ 
late for the happiness and welfare of nations. This species of 
indirect influence increases with the spread of civilization and 
intelligence; it cannot he denied—it cannot be suppressed : is not 
the next alternative to render it beneficial to society ? If a woman 
could once he taught to feel, to appreciate the grand stake she has 
in the political institutions of her country, and to understand the 
interests of humanity at large, she would no longer mix up with 
these considerations the petty passions, errors and prejudices, and 
personal feelings which have rendered at all times the political 
interference and influence of the sex a fertile source of evil, and a 
never-failing topic of reproach and regret; for evil has been almost 
constantly the result. The gallantry of men and the vanity of 
women may here suggest instances of the contrary; but for one 
Yolumnia, how many Cleopatras ! for one Agnes Sorel, how many 
Pompadours and Portsmouths ! One thing, however, is certain, 
that, thanks to the progressive diffusion of freedom and knowledge, 
we are not likely to behold again in civilized Europe the common 
decencies of life braved by the insolent triumph of a maitresse en 
titre : nor a sin in state, majestically drunk,” trampling over the 
destinies of great nations and the interests of millions of men. A 
Maintenon will never more half depopulate France, nor a Ports¬ 
mouth bargain with a foreign despot for the sale of English 
liberty. 

Louise Benee de Penencovet de Queroualle,* of a noble but 
impoverished family in Brittany, was appointed Maid of Honour 
to the Duchess of Orleans in the year 1069 ; she was not more 
than nineteen, when, by the interest of some relations in power, 
she was taken from the convent to which the poverty of her house 

* The name is spelt variously, Keroual, Kerouaille, and Querouailles. In 
England she was Anglicised into Madam Carwell. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


273 


had at first consigned her, apparently for life, and at once intro¬ 
duced to all the pleasures and temptations of a magnificent and 
dissipated court: her introduction took place at a critical moment, 
and in deciding her future fate, has made her destiny and character 
matter of history. 

The conquest, or the ruin of Holland, had long been one of the 
favourite projects of Louis XIY. The Dutch, however, resisted 
his overgrown power, as their ancestors had formerly defied that 
of Philip II. of Spain. In order to carry his plans into execution, 
Louis found it necessary to detach England from the interests of 
Holland. This was matter of some difficulty, for an alliance with 
France against Holland was so odious to all parties in England, so 
contrary to the national prejudices and interests, that though Louis 
did not despair of cajoling or bribing Charles into sucli a treaty, 
the utmost caution and secrecy were necessary in conducting it. 

The only person who was at first trusted with this negotiation, 
was Henrietta Duchess of Orleans, the sister of Charles, and 
sister-in-law of Louis, fatally celebrated in French history as 
Madame d’Angfleterre. She was at this time about five-and- 
twenty, a singular mixture of discretion, or rather dissimulation, 
with rashness and petulance; of exceeding haughtiness, with a 
winning sweetness of manner and disposition, which gained all 
hearts. She had inherited some of the noble qualities of her 
grandfather Henri Quatre, and all the graces and intriguing spirit 
of her mother Henrietta Maria. Early banished from England 
by the misfortunes of her family, she regarded the country of her 
birth with indifference, if not abhorrence. A French woman in 
education, manners, mind, and heart, she was an English woman 
only in the peculiar style of her beauty, uniting the utmost majesty 
of form with a profusion of light hair, eyes as blue and bright as 
those of Pallas, and a complexion u petri de lis et de roses.” On 
her husband, the worthless, stupid, profligate Duke of Orleans, her 
wit and charms were equally thrown away. Louis was well aware 
of her unbounded power over the mind of Charles II., whose 

T 


274 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


affection for lier was said to exceed that of a brother for a sister : 
he had never been known to refuse her any tiling- she had asked for 
herself or others, and Louis trusted that her fascinations would 
g-ain from the King- of England, what reason, and principle, and 
patriotism would have denied. 

To cover the interview between the brother and sister with some 
kind of pretext, which should give it the appearace of an accidental 
or friendly meeting-, Louis undertook a progress to his new Flemish 
provinces; and until Catherine of Russia astonished Europe by 
her pompous triumphal voyag-e down the Bosphorus, nothing* had 
equalled in lavish and luxurious ostentation this famous journey. 
An army of thirty thousand men preceded and followed the royal 
party ; in one spacious and superb equipag-e, all glass and gilding*, 
travelled the King-, the Queen, Henrietta, and Madame de Mon- 
tespan; then followed their respective retinues; then the Prin¬ 
cesses ) the Dauphin and his court, Mademoiselle de Montpensier 
(la grande Mademoiselle) and her court. This was just before the 
fatal affair of her marriag-e with Lauzun, who on this occasion rode 
at the head of the royal g-uards. It was a perpetual series of 
fetes, banquets, and triumphs \ the apparent honours were princi¬ 
pally for Madame de Montespan * the real object of this splendid 
journey was known only to Henrietta of Orleans, who enjoyed in 
secret her own importance, which g-ave a new zest to the pleasures 
with which she was surrounded. When arrived at Dunkirk, she 
embarked for England, with a small but chosen retinue, and met 
her brother at Dover, where this celebrated conference took place. 
The event showed that Louis had not reckoned too much on her 
power; she g-ained from the facile and unprincipled Charles all 
that she asked, and the shameful treaty which rendered the King- 
of England the pensioned tool of France, was arrang-ed at Dover 
in the hen-inning- of June 1G70.* 

* France agreed to give two millions of livres (150,000/.) for the King’s con¬ 
version to Popery; and three millions a-year for the Dutch war. Large sums of 
money were distributed to Buckingham, Arlington, Clifford.—See the documents 
in Dalrympie, vol. i., Appendix. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


Henrietta brought in her train Mademoiselle de Queroualle, and 
during* her short stay, the exceeding beauty and almost childish 
graces of this young girl captivated Charles, who was observed to 
pay her much attention ; she, however, returned to Versailles with 
her royal mistress, and there, within a few days afterwards, wit¬ 
nessed her dreadful death. Voltaire doubts, or affects to doubt, 
that Henrietta was poisoned, because of the odium which such a 
suspicion must have thrown on the father of his patron, the Itegent- 
duke of Orleans; but the recent publication of some private 
memoirs of that time has cleared up the shocking mystery. The 
intrigues which led to the murder of this unhappy woman, present 
such a scene of accumulated horrors and iniquity, that, for the 
honour of human nature, one could wish that the curtain had never 
been raised which hid them from our knowledge. 


On the occasion of her death, the Duke of Buckingham was sent 
over to France as Envoy Extraordinary ; he had been the first to 
observe the impression which Mademoiselle de Queroualle had 
made on the King’s excitable fancy, and he resolved to turn it to 
his own advantage. He had quarrelled with the Duchess of 
Cleveland—had sworn hatred and vengeance against her; and 
now to raise her up a rival, who should be wholly governed by 
himself, seemed to this Proteus of gallantry and harlequin of 
politics, a very master-stroke of art,—worthy of Machiavel himself. 
He persuaded Louis seriously, that the only way to bind Charles 
to the French interest, was to give him a French mistress : and he 
told Charles, jestingly, that he ought to take charge of his sister’s 
favourite attendant, if only out of “ decent tenderness” for her 
memory. As to Mademoiselle de Queroualle, a convent was all 
she could look to in France, and she was not found impracticable. 
Matters, in short, were soon arranged ; an invitation, so decorously 
worded as to spare the lady’s blushes, was sent from the English 
court, and she was immediately despatched to Dieppe with part of 
the Duke of Buckingham’s suite, and his Grace’s promise to join 
her with all convenient speed. But what did that most careless 
and inconsistent of human beings ? His admirable scheme of 

rp o 

1 


27G 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


policy, by which he was to build up his own fortunes and power, 
and ruin all his enemies, was but u one of the thousand freaks that 
died in thinking- •” he totally forgot both the lady and his promise, 
and leaving* the disconsolate nymph at Dieppe to manage as she 
could, passed over to England by way of Calais. Montagu, then 
our ambassador at Paris, hearing of the duke’s egregious blunder, 
immediately sent over for a yacht, and ordered some of his own 
people to convey her with all honour to Whitehall, where she was 
received by Lord Arlington with the utmost respect, and imme¬ 
diately appointed Maid of Honour to the Queen. u Thus,” says 
Burnet, u the Duke of Buckingham lost all the merit he might 
have pretended to, and brought over a mistress, whom his own 
strano-e conduct threw into the hands of his enemies.” 

O 

Though the lady carried it at first very demurely, the purpose 
of her visit was pretty well understood.* Dryden, the court poet 
of the time, hailed her arrival in some complimentary stanzas, 
entitled the u Fair Stranger,” not worth quoting here ty and St. 
Evremond addressed to her an epistle, which, for different reasons, 
I shall refrain from quoting; it is sufficient, that the elegance of 
the diction was worthy of his pen ; the sentiments worthy of his 
epicurean philosophy; and the morality—worthy of the occasion.^ 

The next we hear of Mademoiselle de Queroualle is from Evelyn, 
who notes in his Diary that he had seen u that famous beauty, the 
new French Maid of Honour ;” but adds, a in my opinion, she is 
of a childish, simple, and baby face.” We may judge, from all 
the pictures of La Queroualle, that when young, her beauty, though 
exquisite, must have had the character, or rather the want of cha- 

* It had been foretold, apparently; for Madame de Sevigne thus writes to her 
daughter: “ JNTe trouverez-vous pas bon de savoir que Iveroual dont l’etoile avait 
ete devinee avant qu’elle partit, l’a suivie tres-fidelement ? Le Hoi d’Angleterre 
l’a airnee, elle s’est trouve avec une legere disposition a ne le pas hair; enfin,” 
&c.—Lettre 190. 

t See Dryden’s Works. Scott’s edit. vol. xi. p. 163. 

t (Euvres de St. Evremond, vol. iii. p. 280. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


277 


racter, thus described by Evelyn.* * * § Within a year afterwards be 
met her on a visit at Euston, the seat of Lord Arlington, where 
she was obviously invited for the gratification of Charles. The 
French ambassador, Colbert,t and a number of ladies of high rank, 
nobles, and courtiers, were there at the time. Charles came over 
every other day from Newmarket, and made no secret of his atten¬ 
tions to the young beauty 

In the year 1672 she bore the King a son, (who was created, in 
1675, Duke of Richmond and Earl of March in England, and 
Duke of Lennox and Earl of Darnley in Scotland.)^ In the 
following year Mademoiselle de Queroualle was created by letters 
patent, (August 19, 1673,) Baroness Petersfield, Countess of 
Farneham, and Duchess of Portsmouth. Yet further to exalt 
and blazon a shame which sought neither disguise nor concealment, 
Louis XIY. conferred on her the duchy of Aubigny, in the province 
of Berri, in France,|| as a mark of his friendship for his good 
brother the King of England, and of his respect for the lady, whose 
progenitors, as the preamble sets forth, u had always held a con¬ 
siderable rank in Brittany, and had done good service to the 
throne,” &c. Finding that she was likely to prove a staunch sup¬ 
porter of his interests in England, Louis added to the title and 
dignity of duchess and peeress of France the revenues of the 
territories of Aubigny, and a considerable pension. 

The unbounded power which this woman acquired over the easy 
disposition of her royal lover, was not owing to any superiority of 
wit or intellect, nor did she attempt to govern him, like the Duchess 

* Evelyn’s Diary. This note is dated November 1670, about a month after 
her arrival in England. 

f Brother to the great minister Colbert: he had signed the treaty at Dover. 

X See Evelyn, vol. i. p. 419. 

§ These titles had lately reverted to the Crown by the death of the last Duke 
of Richmond of the Stewart family, the husband of La Belle Stewart.—See p. 179. 

|| By virtue of this grant, the present Duke of Richmond is Due d’Aubigny, 
and a peer of Erauce. 


278 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


of Cleveland, by violence and caprices; though imperious and 
wilful; she was more artful and flexible \ she studied to please and 
observe the King till she had fixed him ; then, if he refused or 
delayed her wishes; she had tears; and sullens; and fits of sickness 
at command. Her rapacity and prodigality were quite equal to 
those of her predecessor. u This day/’ says Evelyn; u I was 
casually shewn the Duchess of Portsmouth’s splendid apartment at 
Whitehall; luxuriously furnished; and with ten times the richness 
and glory of the Queen’s ] such massy pieces of plate ; whole tables, 
stands, &c. of incredible value !” And yet at this time Charles 
was reduced to the basest expedients for money: shuffling with 
his ministers; duping his friends ; exasperating his people; and 
absolutely begging like a mendicant of Louis XIV.; and using the 
intercession of the duchess to obtain from him occasional supplies.* 

The following' note in Evelyn; also relating to the extravagance 
of the Duchess of Portsmouth; is very characteristic. u Following’ 
his majesty this morning through the gallery; I went with the few 
who attended him into the Duchess of Portsmouth’s dressing-room 
within her bed-chamber; where she was in her morning loose 
garment; her maids combing her, newly out of her bed ; his majesty 
and the gallants standing about her • but that which engaged my 
curiosity was, the rich and splendid furniture of this woman’s 
apartment; now twice or thrice pulled down and rebuilt to satisfy 
her prodigality and expensive pleasures; while her majesty’s does 
not exceed some gentlemen’s wives in furniture and accommodation. 
Here I saw the new fabric of French tapestry, for design, ten¬ 
derness of work, and incomparable imitation of the best paintings, 
beyond any thing I had ever beheld. Some pieces had Versailles, 
St. Germains, and other palaces of the French king, with huntings, 
figures, and landscapes, exotic fowls, and all to the life, rarely 

* The Whig party, at one of their meetings, proposed to impeach some of his 
mistresses, upon account of the poverty in which their extravagance had involved 
him. On which old Lord Mordaunt said, “that they ought rather to erect 
statues to the ladies who made their lover dependent on Parliament for his sub¬ 
sistence .”—Vide King James’s Memoirs, and Dalrymple. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


270 


done. Then for Japan cabinets, screens, pendule clocks, great 
vases of wrought plate, tables, stands, chimney furniture, sconces, 
branches, braseras, &c. all of massive silver, and out of number; 
besides some of his majesty’s best painting’s. Surfeiting* of this, 
I dined at Sir Stephen Fox’s, and went contented home to my 
poor, but quiet villa. What contentment can there be in the riches 
and splendour of this world, purchased with vice and dishonour !” 

There was, in truth, but little of contentment within those 
splendid walls. It may be, that there was not much repentance 
for the sin—nor much sense of dishonour; but fears, and jealousies, 
and perplexities, and heart-aches, disgraceful and malicious intrigues, 
public and private conspiracies, and all the demons that wait on 
pride, avarice, perfidy, ambition, haunted the precincts of this 
temple of luxury; the new peeress, in her gems and ermine, was 
laughed at by Nell Gwynn,* hated by the Queen, despised in 
private, and lampooned in public. 

In 1075, the arrival of the Duchess of Mazarin in England had 
nearly overturned the empire of the Duchess of Portsmouth. That 
u Ladye errant,” after many and notable adventures, came over 
with the professed intention of captivating the King; that very 
King* to whom the short-sighted policy of her uncle had once 
refused her as a bride !f Hortense concealed, under a languid 
air and a careless manner, as much arrogance and ambition as 
a Cleveland or a Portsmouth, with more natural wit than either 
of them. But born to beauty, rank, power, wealth, she was the 
complete spoiled child of nature and fortune,—a sort of female 
Buckingham in her uncontroulable passions, her extravagant whims, 
and instability of purpose. She had scarcely arrived in London, 
where she was received with distinction, when a sudden passion 

# See p. 156 of this work. 

t It is true that Charles in his exile had offered to marry this niece of Cardinal 
Mazarin, and it is true that the offer was refused ; it was then Mazarin’s interest 
to keep well with Cromwell, and the return of Charles to his throne was deemed 
impossible. 


280 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


for the Prince de Monaco put to flight all her ambitious views on 
the heart of Charles ; for with her the last caprice was ever para¬ 
mount. The court was thus spared the delectable amusement of 
a combat of daggers or bodkins between the rival duchesses; but 
St. Evremond was in despair, and Charles in a fury. The vagrant 
heart of this royal Squire of Dames had been captivated in the first 
moment by the attractions of Mazarin ; she was now dismissed 
from Whitehall, and he withdrew her pension. After awhile his 
wrath subsided; he restored her pension at the earnest intercession 
of some of her friends at court, but returned to La Portsmouth, 
whose power over him was increased by this short estrangement: 
she could not however, by all her arts, detach him from Nell 
Gw ynn, whose genuine wit, unfailing animal spirits, and careless 
humour, were a relief from the vapours, caprices, and political 
cabals which often annoyed him in the duchess’s boudoir.* 

As years passed on, her power grew by habit, and with it her 
arrogance. The ladies of the court tossed their heads at poor Nell, 
the untitled mistress; but the most immaculate in character, the 
most illustrious in rank, thought themselves happy in the notice 
and intimacy of the ennobled courtesan. Now and then she had 
to endure mortifications: it is true the Aldingtons, the Sunderlands, 
the Arundels, the Cliffords, the Lauderdales—even the lovely young 
Duchess of York, combined to surround the favourite with a glory 
which kept her in countenance, and served to gild over her shame; 
but the Bussells, the Cavendishes, the Butlers, stood aloof. She 

* One of Andrew Marvel’s satires thus alludes to the indolent Charles and his 
insolent mistresses: 

“ In loyal libels we have often told him 
How one has jilted him, the other sold him; 

How that affects to laugh, how this to weep, 

But who can rail so long as he can sleep! 

Was ever Prince by two at once misled, 

False, foolish, old, ill-natured, and ill-bred?” 

At all times the licence of personal satire has kept pace with the licence of 
manners and morals ; but the remedy is sometimes as bad as the disease,—or 
rather is itself a disease. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


281 


once sent word to the excellent and venerable Duchess of Ormond, 
that she would dine with her on such a day. The duchess did not 
decline the honour , hut she sent her two granddaughters, Lady 
Betty Stanhope and Lady Emily Butler, out of the house on this 
occasion, and received the Duchess of Portsmouth alone. They 
sat down to dinner, with only her chaplain en tiers ; and we may 
easily suppose that the Duchess of Portsmouth did not again invite 
herself to the table of the Duchess of Ormond. # 

Carte, who gives us this characteristic trait, has also related an 
almost incredible instance of the impertinence, rapacity, and 
influence of the favourite. When the daughter of the ill-fated 
Henrietta of Orleans became Queen of Spain,')' Charles ordered the 
famous jeweller Laguse to prepare an ornament of gems of the 
value of fifteen thousand pounds, as a present to his niece • and 
Lord Ossory was appointed envoy extraordinary to convey it to 
her, with the usual compliment of congratulation • hut the duchess 
having in the interim cast her eyes on the jewel, it so pleased her 
fancy that she insisted on appropriating it. The King had every 
art hut the art of saying no , and Ossory’s journey was stopped on 
the plea that economy was the order of the day, and that it was 
too expensive j on the same economical principle the jewel was 
presented to the Duchess of Portsmouth. What became of it 
afterwards I do not know. 

On another occasion, the Duke of York took it into his head to 
descant in her presence on the virtue and piety of Louis XIV., 
who, at the command of a new confessor, had sent Montespan into 
a convent during Lent, in order that he might be contrite with a 
better grace. The duke related all the circumstances, and dwelt 
upon them with much eloquence and solemnity, to the infinite 
impatience and embarrassment of the duchess: she was however 
quitte your lafrayeur . 

* Carte’s Life of Ormond. 

t She was sent into Spain at the age of fourteen, and perished, like her mother, 
in the bloom cf youth, and by a similar death. 


282 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


The Queen detested her * but the little spirit which poor Cathe¬ 
rine had at first exhibited, as well as her affection for the King*, 
had long* subsided,—the first into passive endurance, the latter into 
absolute indifference. When the Act was passed in 1078, obliging’ 
all persons to take a test ag'ainst Popery, and a proviso was inserted 
in favour of the Queen and nine ladies about her person, she 
required all her attendants to cast lots, but named the Duchess of 
Portsmouth with herself as excepted, and not to be exposed to the 
uncertainty of a lot. The excuse made for this piece of compla¬ 
cency to her rival was her own perilous situation, which made it 
necessary to display an extreme alacrity in anticipating- the wishes 
of the King-. This conduct, the effect of fear only, excited so 
little gratitude, that not long* afterwards we have an instance of 
the abject and heartless slavery of Charles, and of the unfeeling- 
insolence of his sultana, which cannot be recorded without indig¬ 
nation. The duchess was Lady of the Bed-chamber to the Queen, 
as Lady Castlemaine had been before her,—not so much to preserve 
appearances, as to give her, by virtue of her office, a rig-ht to 
lodging-s in Whitehall. It may easily be imagined that the duties 
of her place were dispensed with ’ but on one occasion, contrary 
to her usual custom and the Queen’s wishes, she chose to attend 
on her majesty at dinner, and behaved with so much effrontery, 
that the Queen, who had little command of temper, was thrown into 
extreme disorder, and at last burst into tears.* The duchess 
laughed behind her fan, and uttered some words of derision almost 
aloud ; this audacity excited so much disgust and indignation, that 
the King interposed. Catherine’s spirit was, however, a mere 
flash of excited temper; and the next time we hear of her, she is 
the Duchess of Portsmouth’s partner at loo.j' 

Many intrigues were carried on ag-ainst the imperious favourite f 
many attempts were made to remove her, or introduce a rival, or 
a substitute, in the heart of the indolent, inconstant Charles,—but 
without effect. She had numerous enemies, and not one friend ; 


* Sir John Reresby’s Memoirs. 


f Lady Sunderland's Letters. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


283 


but she had so many spies and dependants around her, she was so 
well served through fear or interest, that she contrived to anticipate 
or defeat all the plots against her, and keep old Rowley chained to 
her footstool while he lived.* 

Nor did she reign merely through the influence of her beauty 
and her feminine arts. If this woman had confined herself to 
securing her personal influence in the heart of Charles,—if she had 
been satisfied with amassing wealth and appropriating diamonds, 
the world had wanted one signal instance of mischievous, mis¬ 
placed power in our sex. We find the Duchess of Portsmouth, 
almost from her first arrival in England, engaged in the deepest 
and most dangerous state intrigues; and so completely did she 
fulfil the intentions and instructions of Louis in binding her lover 
to the French interests, that England, to use the strong expres¬ 
sion of one historian, u was, in her time, little better than a pro¬ 
vince of France.” As far as the government was concerned, this 
was true ; but, fortunately, the tide of national feeling had set in a 
contrary direction, and though repressed for awhile, it was after¬ 
wards nobly asserted. 

In the boudoir of the Duchess of Portsmouth was concerted 
that treaty, or rather that conspiracy, between Charles II. and 
Louis XIV., a principal article of which was, that Charles should 
not call a Parliament for a certain number of years ; and that 
during that time, he should have money from the court of France 
to enable him to govern independently, and carry his measures 


* The interest of the story of “ Peveril of the Peak” turns on a plot of this 
kind,—fictitious of course, hut resembling in its outline the story of Miss Law- 
son, (see p. 186). The King obtained the nick-name of Old Rowley from that of 
an ugly old horse in the royal stud, which was celebrated for the number and 
beauty of its offspring. He was ignorant of this satirical cognomen, till one day 
happening to visit one of the Maids of Honour, he found her singing a most 
libellous song on “ Old Rowley the King.” After listening a few minutes at 
the door, he tapped gently: “Who’s there?” said Miss Howard from within; 
“ Old Rowley himself, madam,” replied the King, opening the door. 


284 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


without the consent of his people. The amount of this pension 
caused much dispute. The plea used by Charles to persuade Louis 
to come in to his terms was u that it would render England for 
ever dependent on him, and put it out of the power of the English 
to oppose him.” These were the King’s own words,—may they 
stick like plague-spots to his memory ! The Duchess of Ports¬ 
mouth promised for her lover, that if Louis would give four 
millions of livres, he should enter into all the engagements the 
King of France could desire. The terms were at last arranged 
between Bouillon, the French envoy, and Lord Sunderland. 

During this secret negotiation, French money was lavished on 
all sides & pleines mains : not only the ministers, courtiers, and 
their dependants, hut some of the women of the highest rank in 
the court accepted presents and gratifications from France, on con¬ 
ditions pretty well understood: and u not to be corrupted was the 
shame.”* Many of these transactions were well known to the 
King, who treated them with profligate indifference, and even 
raillery. While Charles and his confidants were bribed into com¬ 
pliance with the wishes of Louis, the French ambassador and the 


* The French minister thus writes to his master:—“ Lady Arlington having 
offered in her husband’s presence to accept of the present intended for her hus¬ 
band, he reproached her, but very obligingly.” About a year afterwards, he 
says :—“ My Lord Arlington made me a visit on purpose to let me know how 
much he is penetrated with the marks of esteem and distinction which your 
majesty has given by the magnificent present made to Lady Arlington.” Again, 
“ Lady Shrewsbury, on receiving her French pension, said, ‘ She would make 
Buckingham comply with the Kin g in all things.’ ” Again, t£ If your majesty 
thinks I ought again to press Lord Hollis to accept the box of diamonds, I may, 
by means of Lady Hollis, make him accept of it. I don’t presume she will be so 
difficult as he has been.” (Lord Hollis died before the box could be again 
offered to him, and it was given to Lord St. Albans.) Montagu was promised 
100,000 livres for contriving the disgrace and fall of Lord Danby, (but received 
only half the sum ;) “ Lord Sunderland and the Duchess of Portsmouth hinted 
that they expected gratifications from France.” (They received 10,000 and 
5000 pistoles with a very good grace.) See the original despatches quoted in 
Dairymple’s Appendix. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


285 


Duchess of Portsmouth were intriguing* with the popular, or Whig* 
party, in order to embarrass the government, and prevent the 
King from becoming too independent; and Charles was duping, 
or trying to dupe, all parties in turn. In the midst of this scene 
of perfidy and meanness, and moral and political debasement,— 
while the traitor nobles, and their more traitorous King*, were 
licking the dust like reptiles round the footstool of a French cour¬ 
tesan, was she, on whom so much of the odium has been thrown, 
the most culpable or the most contemptible figure in the vile 
group ? Like Circe, who retained her human and feminine attri¬ 
butes in the midst of the herd of wretches around her, transformed 
and degraded by the taste of her enchanted cup, she had still 
some womanly feelings left,—and for her , Justice might find some 
excuse; for the others none. She was introduced to the French 
court just in time to witness the elevation and triumph of Madame 
de Montespan: to see her the object of envy to the women, and 
of obsequious homage to the men; to see her carriage surrounded 
by a troop of horse, and her levee crowded by obsequious nobles : 
—was it to he expected that she alone was to look beyond this 
illusion, and turn from a temptation which she had learned to 
regard as an object of ambition ? She was a foreigner : treachery 
to England was truth and good service to her own country ‘ per¬ 
fidy on one side was patriotism on the other,—at least it has been 
accounted so in other heroines; only this French Judith was 
satisfied with turning the head of her lover, and had no wish to 
cut it off. Farther—she was a woman, with the feelings and 
affections of a woman. She was attached to Charles, was true to 
him—to him who believed her the only friend he had in the world, 
yet did not hesitate to dupe her whenever he wished,—through 
her, to dupe others. She doated on her son, and by these two 
feelings, superior even to her fears and her avarice, she was fre¬ 
quently governed by the intriguing* ministers around her. For 
instance, when the Bill to exclude the Duke of York from the 
throne was agitated with such factious clamour, the nation beheld 
the strange spectacle of the French mistress leagued with the 
Whig* and Protestant faction, and intriguing with the popular 


280 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


leaders of the House of Commons against the court; because that 
Machiavel, Shaftesbury, had represented to her, that if the usual 
law of succession was once set aside, her son the Duke of Rich¬ 
mond would become of more importance, and even have some 
chance of succeeding* to the throne: and such was her ignorance 
or her imbecility, that she fell at once into the snare. They also 
worked on her fears, by threatening to vote her a public grievance. 
It is said, that on this occasion she threw herself at the feet of the 
King and shed a flood of tears, beseeching him not to sacrifice her 
and himself to his affection for his brother: but this time she 
kneeled and wept in vain. 

It is curious, that during that gTotesque and sanguinary farce, 
the Popish plot, which threatened even the person of the Queen, 
the Duchess of Portsmouth not oidy escaped its all-devouring* 
snares, hut enjoyed a kind of popularity * so that when a member 
of the House of Commons rose up to move an address, u That she 
should he sent out of the kingdom,” the purport of his speech was 
no sooner guessed, than it was drowned in a tumult of dissentient 
voices. One part of this pretended plot being* the murder of the 
King, she had an excuse for being on the opposite side. It is 
even said, that at the trial of poor old Lord Stafford, she was in 
the court dealing out smiles and bon-bons to the witnesses against 
him. 

It is said, in the Life of Lord Russell, that the old Earl of 
Bedford offered the Duchess of Portsmouth one hundred thousand 
pounds to procure the pardon of his son, and that she refused it. 
As she was never known to resist a bribe, it is more probable that 
she did make the attempt, and failed. In this instance, as in some 
others, the Duke of York’s influence outweighed hers. 

In the year 1681, her son, the Duke of Richmond, then about 
nine years of age, was installed a knight of the Garter. At this 
period, and previously, the knights of the Garter wore the blue 
ribbon round the neck, with the George appendant on the breast; 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


287 


but tlie duke’s mother having 1 some time after his installation 
introduced him to the King with his ribbon over his left shoulder, 
and the George appendant on the right side, his majesty was so 
much pleased with the alteration, that he commanded it in future 
to be adopted. Thus the Duchess of Portsmouth has some claim 
to be considered as joint patroness of the most noble order of the 
Garter with the Countess of Salisbury, of chivalrous memory, 
whose face could not have been more fair, and whose fame, by all 
accounts, was not much fairer. 

About the same time, another secret treaty with France was 
arranged in the boudoir of Madame la Duchesse. The principal 
article of this treaty was, that Charles should never more call a 
Parliament, and should receive on that condition two millions of 
livres for one } T ear, and a million and a half for two years more. 
Lord Hyde, Lord St. Albans, and the Duchess of Portsmouth, 
were only privy to this infamous bargain, which was managed 
verbally, but the proofs of which remain in Barillon’s despatches. 
It is well known that after this treaty, or rather treason , had been 
consummated, Charles dissolved his Parliament, and never assem¬ 
bled another. It was a little later, about 1082, that Louis, being 
resolved to seize on Luxembourg, the key to the Netherlands and 
Germany, prevailed on Charles, through the influence and caresses 
of the Duchess of Portsmouth, to look on quietly while this piece 
of arbitrary injustice was perpetrated against the faith of treaties, 
and against the interest of England. Charles received 300,0007. 
for his passive treachery. The amount of the gratification which 
rewarded the duchess is not ascertained \ but she ever afterwards 
piqued herself on this affair of Luxembourg, and boasted of it as 
the last and best piece of service she had rendered the court of 
France.* In the midst of these vile state intrigues, the interior of 
Whitehall is described by contemporaries as a scene “of inex¬ 
pressible luxury and profaneness, gaming* and all dissoluteness 


* Burnet, vol. ii. p. 181. Dalrymple, vol. i. Appendix to book i. Evelyn, 
vol. i. p. 537. 


•288 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


but the under current was bitterness, terror, and g’loom. Charles, 
who had been so remarkable for his easy g'aiety, had latterly sunk 
into a kind of melancholy apathy; the duchess became alarmed 
by his illness and her own unpopularity. She changed her conduct 
after the dissolution of the last Parliament, turned against the 
popular party, connected her interests with those of the Duke of 
York, and brought Lord Sunderland again into the administration : 
in fact, Sunderland, whose insinuating arts few could withstand, 
found means to work on her feelings and her fears. He began by 
proving to her, that her son could never hope to succeed to the 
crown; but that, through his (Lord Sunderland’s) interest and 
that of the Duke of York, she might gain an immense hereditary 
settlement for him. The Duke was not wanting in promises on 
his part, so that on one occasion, in 1084, when the duchess was 
seized with a sudden indisposition, (the consequence of that habitual 
gourmandise in which she indulged,) she called the King to her, 
and made him swear, in case of her death, to stand by his brother. 
On her recovery, the Duke of York sent to thank her for a proof 
of interest, which appeared at least sincere ; yet he contrived to 
delay, and at length to evade the promised settlement on her son. 
Meantime the King’s spirits declined * nothing, as it was com¬ 
monly said, went near his heart, for in truth he had no heart ; but 
the inextricable web of difficulties in which his duplicity and 
extravagance had involved him began to prey on his mind. He 
had been false to all, he was mistrusted by all; insignificant 
abroad, contemptible at home: while Louis XIV., sick of his 
vacillating, and tired of his complaints and his mean importunities, 
not only withheld his pension and intrigued with his subjects 
against him, but actually threatened to publish through Europe 
the articles of their secret treaties, which would not only have 
rendered him detestable in the eyes of all men, but might have 
proved fatal to his crown and life his father had lost his head 
for much less cause. Charles was struck at once with terror and 

* Barillon, the French envoy, confesses that he had a discretionary power to 
threaten Charles with this discovery, hut was to keep it in reserve as a stroke of 
thunder. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


289 


rage to be thus over-reached; his gaiety forsook him, and with it 
his good-breeding and good-nature, which were mere manner and 
temperament. To his natural laziness was added extreme de¬ 
pression of spirits, and a sudden and unusual fit of jealousy 
increased his ill-humour. In 1684, the Grand-Prieur de Yen- 
dome,* brother to the Duke of Yendome, came over from France 
on some secret mission, and had particular orders to ingratiate 
himself with the Duchess of Portsmouth. This Grand-Prieur 
appears to have possessed in himself a rare union of qualifications * 
he was prelate, statesman, soldier, courtier, and a man of gal¬ 
lantry •—very handsome, and very slovenly. He began by 
losing his money to the duchess; and then, under pretence of 
state affairs, was so frequently closeted with her, that the King, 
roused from his usual indolence and indifference, ordered the 
Grand-Prieur to quit England. Yet his behaviour to the duchess 
at this very time displayed an increase of fondness and confidence, 
and whether there were any real grounds for this suspicion remains 
doubtful. 

Such was, at this period, the alteration in Charles’s spirits and 
deportment, that the Duchess of Portsmouth began to tremble for 
him and for herself. When she was about to make a journey to 
Bath, whither Sir Charles Scarborough (the court physician) had 
ordered her, Lord Sunderland stopped her departure, by asking her 
if she could be such a fool as to let the King feel he could do 
without her? And taking advantage of her fondness for her lover,j' 
his fertile brain and restless spirit, which seem to have u toiled in 
frame of villanies,” conceived a new plot: he persuaded the duchess 
that the only means of restoring the King to health and spirits, 
was to prevail on him to change his measures entirely, reconcile 
himself to the Parliament and people, banish the Duke of York, 


* He was the grandson of Henri Quatre, consequently cousin to the King. 
He came over first in 1680. 

t The expressions used by Dalrymple. 


IT 


290 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


and recall Monmouth.* The duchess listened; always impotent in 
mind ; facile as she was headstrong*; and without any fixed principle 
of conduct; except that of securing* the King’s affections and her 
own power over him ; she readily lent herself to Sunderland’s 
projects; but in the very commencement of this new intrigue; 
Charles was seized with apoplexy. 

It must be allowed that the deportment of the Duchess of 
Portsmouth; in his last moments; considering her situation and her 
tenets of belief; did her some honour. She had often been compared 
to Alice Pierce in the lampoons of the day, but her conduct was 
very different. It was made a subject of reproach to her; that she 
was found seated by the King’s pillow and supporting his head; 
where the Queen ought to have been (but where the Queen was 
not ); and it was considered a a piece of indecency/’ that she had 
desired Bishop Kenn to take the Duke of Bichmond to his father 
to receive his last blessing ;f but her solicitude on these points 
does not surely deserve so hard a construction. On the second day 
of the King’s seizure; Barillon writes that he found the duchess in 
her apartment overwhelmed with affliction; hut that instead of 
speaking of her own grief or her own affairs; she appeared 
extremely anxious for the state of the King’s soul. u Nobody/’ 
said she; u tells him of his condition; or speaks to him of God. I 
cannot with decency enter the room; the Duke of York thinks 
only of his affairs. Go to him ; I conjure you; and warn him to 
think of what can be done to save the King’s soul; lose no time; 
for if it be deferred ever so little; it will be too late !” 

She had all along been in the secret of Charles’s real sentiments 

* Lord Sunderland’s aim was to ingratiate himself with the Prince of Orange, 
whose party was becoming every day stronger in England. 

t The good bishop was much blamed for his compliance .—Vide Bumet. This 
was the same bishop who, when Charles II. lodged at his house at Winchester, 
refused to admit Nell Gwynn into it. The King put himself into a passion; 
but Nell defended the bishop, observed that he only did his duty, and retired 
voluntarily to another lodging. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


291 

with regard to religion, and a priest being* brought, lie died in the 
profession of the Catholic faith. He frequently recommended the 
Duchess of Portsmouth and her son to his successor, a in terms,” 
says Burnet, u as melting as he could fetch outand after his 
death, the first visit of condolence which James the Second paid 
was to the Duchess of Portsmouth; the second to the Queen- 
dowager, whose grief, in truth, was the more apocryphal of the 
two. 

Soon after the death of Charles the Second, the Duchess of 
Portsmouth retired to France, carrying with her a large sum in 
money and jewels $* and from this time, though her life was pro¬ 
longed beyond the usual term of humanity, very few particulars 
are known concerning her. She lived at first with considerable 
splendour, but lost immense sums at play; and her pension from 
England being stopped, it appears that she was reduced to great 
difficulties. She came over to England in 1099, and found her 
son the Duke of Biclimond married to Lady Anne Brudenell, 
widow of Lord Bellasys, and the father of three children. She 
returned to Paris, but came over again in 1715, and was presented 
to the Princess of Wales, afterwards Queen Caroline.f Her 
object, it is said, was to obtain a pension from the English govern- 

# [She seems at this time to have been involved in debt. The following 
curious entry occurs in the interesting Memoirs of the Marquis de Sourches, 
lately discovered and published at Paris by M. Bernier. March, 1G85. “ On 

assuroit encore que ce prince (James II.) etoit alle rendre deux visites fort 
honnetes a Madame la Duchesse de Portsmouth, l’une des maitresses du feu roi 
son frere ; mais qu’a la derniere visite, il lui avoit conseille que, si elle vouloit se 
retirer d’Angleterre, connne elle sembloit en avoir envie, elle eut le soin de payer 
toutes ses dettes, ne pouvant pas se faire fort aupres d’elle, si elle en usoit 
autrement, d’empecher que les Anglois ne lui firent quelqu’ insulte.”— Ed.] 

t At the first drawing-room held by George I., the Duchess of Portsmouth, 
the Countess of Dorchester, ci-devant mistress of James II., and the Countess 
of Orkney, mistress of William III., found themselves standing together in the 
royal presence. “ Good Lord!” exclaimed Lady Dorchester, whose impudence 

equalled her wit, “ who would have thought that we three-should have 

met here !” They had all been raised to the peerage on the same terms. 



292 


THE DUCHESS OF POKTSMOUTH. 


ment 5 if she had the assurance to ask it, apparently the govern¬ 
ment had not the assurance to grant it. In 1718 she was a poor 
pensioner on the French court; and was living* on an allowance of 
eight hundred a-year. In the Memoirs of the Due de Saint Simon 
she is thus incidentally mentioned : 

(( Le Pegent accorda a la Duchesse de Portsmouthe 8,000 liv. 
d’augmentation de pension k 12,000 liv. qu’elle en avait dejh: elle 
etait fort vieille, tres convertie et penitente, tres mal dans ses 
affaires, reduite h vivre dans sa campagne. II etait juste et de hon 
exemple de se souvenir des services importants et continuels quelle 
avait rendus de tres bonne grace a la France, du temps qifelle 
etait en Angleterre, maitresse tres-puissante de Charles II.” 

Voltaire; who saw her about this time at the ag’e of seventy, 
describes her as still surprisingly beautiful, a avec une figure 
encore noble et agreahle, que les annees n’avaient point fie trie.” 

The last years of her life were spent in retirement, and in a 
penitence which we may hope to be sincere. She died at Paris in 
1734, in her eig’hty-seventh year. 

The Duchess of Portsmouth had a younger sister, Henriette de 
Querouaille, whom she invited over to England, and married to 
Philip seventh Earl of Pembroke. He was a man of violent and 
eccentric temper • she lived most unhappily with him, and he 
treated her so ill, that the duchess threatened to make the King* 
interfere. The earl made a brutal reply, which silenced her, and 
his death soon after, (in 1683), relieved his wife from his tyranny. 
This Countess of Pembroke had a daughter married to the son of 
the infamous Judg’e Jefferies. 

It is, perhaps, worth remarking*, that*the first company of French 
actors who ever appeared in England, came over for the amuse¬ 
ment of the Duchess of Portsmouth 5 and, through her patronage, 
were for a time so followed by the court and the public, as to excite 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


293 


the envy and despair of the Engdish players, and call down a bitter 
satire from Dryden, who wrote one of his Prologues expressly to 
turn them into ridicule. 

The pictures of the Duchess of Portsmouth are very numerous, 
and easily recognized • for though her face had not much expres¬ 
sion, its extreme loveliness, the peculiar beauty of the full lips, and 
a childish sweetness and simplicity in the look, give to all her 
pictures a very distinct character. There is a splendid full-length 
of her at Dunham Massey, the seat of the Earl of Stamford: 
another, equally line, at Blenheim. The picture of her at Hampton 
Court is by Gascar, a French painter, whom she brought over and 
patronised; that at Goodwood, in the possession of her descendant 
the Duke of Richmond, I presume to be by the same artist. At 
Kensington there is a portrait of her by Yerelst, holding a wreath 
of flowers. There is a picture of her at Holland-House, and two 
at Strawberry-hill. 

Lely painted a picture representing Charles and the Duchess of 
Portsmouth as Cymon and Iphigenia. 

“ Along the margin of the fount was laid, 

Attended by her nymphs, a sleeping maid. 

^ ^ ^ 

The fool of nature stood with stupid eyes, 

And gaping mouth that testified surprise, 

Fix’d on her face, nor could remove his sight, 

New as he was to love, and novice in delight. 

Long mute he stood-” 


This picture is mentioned by Horace Walpole as being missed 
or lost from the royal collection. Either the original, or a most 
admirable copy, is in the possession of Sir Gerard Noel. It is the 
only known picture of the duchess in which the face is represented 
in profile, and nothing can exceed it in voluptuous beauty. 


There was another picture, representing the duchess and her 



294 


THE DUCHESS OE PORTSMOUTH. 


son as the Madonna and Child, which was painted tor a rich 
convent in France, and used as an altar-piece. It may account 
for this not singular piece of profaneness to remark, that the 
duchess was regarded at one time by the most bigoted party in 
France, as a chosen instrument of Heaven tor the conversion of 
the King of England and his people. 

The engraving* is from the celebrated picture at Althorpe, one 
of the finest of all. It was painted by Lely soon after her arrival 
in England: it represents her as an Arcadian Bergere— 

-“ A peeress there in ermined pride, 

Is here Pastora by a fountain’s side.” 

In the original there is an emblematical lamb, which is omitted in 
the engraving for want of space; the same style of beauty, striking*, 
and perfect in its way, without being* intellectual or interesting, 
prevails through all the known portraits of this u tr£s puissante 
maitresse.” 


[It is said that, after having created her Duchess of Portsmouth, 
the King, in order to gratify her pride and quiet her pretended 
scruples, was married to his new mistress at the house of the Earl 
of Arlington,—a ceremony quite superfluous, to say nothing worse 
of it, as his Queen was yet living; and upon the very day of this 
pretended marriage, he dined with her according to the ceremony 
of the court, and supped below stairs. The duchess required this 
mock celebration to save her conscience, (!) and when she proclaimed 
her marriage to the courtiers, which was on a Lord Mayor’s day, 
at Mr. Easton’s in Cheapside, where the King and his attendants 
usually stood, some one having said something to her discredit, she 

prefaced it by exclaiming in broken English, u Me no-! if 

me thought me were, me would cut mine own throat!” 

During the reigns of the two last Stuarts, we are constantly 
meeting* with rumours of poisoning : it was a practice then fashion¬ 
able in France, and the good people of England, seeing so many 





THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


295 


new fashions come in, probably thought that this fashion must 
also have come along* with the others. We are inclined to believe 
in very few of the stories of this kind which contemporary, or 
nearly contemporary, writers have handed down to us, because, in 
the violent and bitter party feeling's which then existed, the sudden 
death of a partisan was too severely felt by his friends to allow 
them to judg-e deliberately or impartially. After the death of King 
Charles, it was confidently reported by many that he was taken 
off by poison, and popular clamour accused the Duchess of Ports¬ 
mouth of being* implicated in the crime. Dishop Burnet reports 
a conversation between the duchess and a Mr. Henly of Hamp¬ 
shire, wherein the duchess confessed that the King' had been 
murdered by the Popish party, and Harris,* to whom we refer 
our readers for further information on the subject, endeavours to 
show that the story was not improbable. 

The story of the poisoning- of Charles’s sister is, unhappily, far 
more authentic, and our readers, will, perhaps, not g-rudg-e the 
space occupied by the following* letters of a person of quality who 
witnessed her death, as they give some curious details relating to 
the fate of Madame Henriette d’Angleterre. 

Never, perhaps, was there a family so stained with a long series 
of crimes, and so severely punished for them in all its members, ns 
that of the Stuarts. “ Though it was notorious,” says the Editor 
of the Secret History of Charles the Secondf u that she died in 
excruciating agonies ; though it was notorious she fell a victim to 
her husband’s jealousy; yet Charles, on receiving the news, only 
shed a few tears, and gave Monsieur a hard name * hut desired the 
messenger not to divulge the secret, before a formal account was 
sent from France of the subject. The English ministers were 
directed to notify to foreign courts, that Madame did not die a 
violent death; and the Marshal de Bellefond, who was sent over 
to remove the King’s suspicions, was received with singular marks 

* Hist, of Charles II., vol. ii. p. 372. 

f Secret Hist., Suppl., p. 21. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


29G 


of civility. It is not, perhaps, the least odious feature in Charles’s 
portrait, that neither the fullest proofs of his sister’s untimely end, 
nor the expressions of tenderness uttered with her dying* breath, in 
which she declared that her only regret in leaving the world was 
because she left him, had the smallest effect on his callous feelings 
to rouse him to a returning sense of national interest, family 
honour, or brotherly affection.” 

“Paeis, June 30, 1670, 

Pour in the Morning. 

“ My Lord, 

u I am sorry to he obliged, by my employment, to 
give you an account of the saddest story in the world, and which I 
have hardly the courage to write. Madam, on Sunday the 29th 
of this instant, being at St. Clou, with a great deal of company, 
about five o’clock in the afternoon called for a glass of chicory 
water, that was prescribed her to drink, she having* for two or 
three da} T s after bathing found herself indisposed ; she had no 
sooner drank this, but she cried out she was dead, and fell into 
Madam Mascbourgh’s arms, and desired to be put to bed, and 
have a confessor. She continued in the greatest tortures imagin¬ 
able till three o’clock in the morning, when she dyed: the King, 
the Queen, and all the court being there till about an hour before. 

u God send the King our master patience and constancy to bear 
so great an affliction. Madam declared she had no reluctancy to 
die, but out of the grief she thought it would be to the King her 
brother; and when she was in any ease, from the torture she was 
in, which the physicians call Colick Bileuse , she asked for me, and 
it was to charge me to say all the kind things from her to her 
brothers, the King and the duke. I did not leave her till she 
expired, and hapned to come to St. Clou an hour after she fell ill. 
Never any body died with that piety and resolution, and kept her 
senses to the last. Excuse this imperfect relation for the grief I 
am in. I am sure all that had the honour to know her, will have 
their share for so great and general a loss. 

I am, my Lord, 

Lours,” &c. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


297 


“ Paris, July G, 1670. 

u My Lord, 

u This acknowledgetli two of your lordship’s, the one 
of June 17th hy Sir Henry Jones, the other of the 23rd by the 
post. I suppose by this time you may have with you the Marshal 
de Bellefond, who, besides his condolence, will endeavour, I believe, 
to disabuse our court of what the court and people here will never 
be disabused of, which is Madam’s being* poisoned. Which, having* 
so g*ood an authority as her own saying* it several times in her 
g*reat pains, makes the report much more credited. But to me in 
particular, when I asked her several times whether she thoug’ht 
herself poisoned, she would answer nothing*; I believe being- 
willing* to spare the addition of so great a trouble to the King* our 
master; which was the reason why, in my first letter, I made no 
mention of it: neither am I physician g*ood enoug*h to say she was 
poisoned or she was not. They are willing*, in this countrey, to 
make me the author of the report, I mean Monsieur, who sa}*s, I 
do it to break the good intelligence between the two crowns. 

u The King and ministers here seem extremely affected with the 
loss of Madam, and I do not doubt but they are, for they hoped, 
upon her consideration, to bring the King* our master to conde¬ 
scend to things, and enter into a friendship with this crown, 
stricter, perhaps, than they think he will now she is no more. 
What was begun, or what was intended, I will not presume to 
search into, since your lordship did not think fit to communicate 
the least part of it to me; but I cannot help knowing* the town 
talk, and I dare answer that all that the King* our master can 
propose will be granted here, to have his friendship ; and there is 
nothing, on the other side, the Dutch will not do to hinder our 
joining with the French. All I desire to know, my lord, is, that 
whilst I am here, I may know what language to hold in conver¬ 
sation with the other ministers, that I may not be ridiculous with 
the character I have upon me. Whilst Madam was alive, she did 
me the honour to trust me enough to hinder me from being* 
exposed to that misfortune. 


298 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH 


u I am sure^ for the little time you knew her in England; you 
could not but know her enough to regret her as long as you live; 
as I am sure you have reason • for I never knew any body kinder; 
nor have a better opinion of another; in all kinds; than she had of 
you. And I believe she loved the King her brother too well; if 
she had not been persuaded how well and faithfully you served him; 
to have been so really concerned for you, as I have observed her to 
he; upon all occasions; since there has been a good understanding 
between you. As for my own particular; I have had so great a 
losS; that I have no joy in this countrey; nor hopes of any in 
another. Madam; after several discourses with me in her illness; 
which was nothing but kind expressions of the King our master; 
at last told me she was extremely sorry she had done nothing for 
me before she died; in return of all the zeal and affection with 
which I had served her ; since my being here. She told me that 
there were six thousand pistoles of hers in several places : she bid 
me take them for her sake. I told her she had many poor servants 
that wanted more than 15 that I never served out of interest; and 
that absolutely I would not take it; but ; if she pleased to tell me 
which of them I should give it to ; I would dispose of it according 
to her pleasure. She had so much presence of mind as to name 
them to me by their names \ but the breath was no sooner out of 
her body; hut Monsieur seized all her keys and cabinets. I en¬ 
quired; next day; where the money was * one of her women said it 
was in such a place; which hapned to be the first six thousand 
pistoles the King our master sent her. For just as that money 
came; it was designed to unpawn some jewels; upon which she had 
already taken up some money 5 but two days before; the King of 
France gave her money; with which she unpawned them, so the 
money came clear in to her. 

u I demanded the money upon this from Monsieur, as money of 
mine that was borrowed for Madam, it having been delivered by 
my servant to two of her women, who assured him, as they could 
not do otherways, that that money came from me, for they never 
knew that the King our master sent it her. Monsieur had in this 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


290 


time got away above half of the money; the rest I had delivered 
me, which I did, to the utmost farthing’, in the presence of my 
Lord Abbot Montag’ue and two other witnesses, dispose to Madam’s 
servants equally, as he directed. Monsieur has promised me the 
rest, which they are to have in the same manner; but if they are 
not wise enoug’h to keep their councel, he will certainly take it from 
them. I could not have g’ot it for the poor people any other way, 
and I believe the King’ will be gladder they have it, than Monsieur. 
I desire you will let the King* know this for my discharge, and let 
it go no further. Sir George Hamilton was a witness of the 
thing, with my Lord Abbot Montague. I thought fit to trouble 
your lordship with this account, which is all at present from, 

My Lord, 

Yours.” 

u P.S. Since the writing of this, I am told, from very good 
hands, and one that Monsieur trusts, that he being desired by the 
King to deliver up all Madam’s papers, before lie would do it, he 
first sent for my Lord Abbot Montague to read them, and interpret 
them to him ; but not trusting enough to him, he employed other 
persons that understood the language to do it, amongst which 
Madam de Fienne was one ; so that most of the private things 
between the King and Madam are and will be very publickj there 
were some things in cyphers, which trouble him extremely, of the 
King our master, for having a confidence with Madam, and 
treating things with her, without his knowledge. My Lord Abbot 
Montague will, I hope, give you a larger account of this matter 
than I can; for tho’ Monsieur enjoined him secrecy to all the 
world, it cannot extend to you, if there be any thing that concerns 
the King our master’s affairs.” 

To the King. 

“Paris, July 15, 1670. 

u Sir, 

a I ought to begin with begging your majesty’s pardon 
for saying any thing to you upon so sad a subject, and where I had 


000 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


the misfortune to be a witness of the cruellest and most generous 
end any person in the world ever made. I had the honour, on the 
Saturday, which was the day before Madam dyed, to entertain 
conversation with her a great while; the most of her discourse 
being concerning Monsieur, and how impossible she saw it was for 
her to live happily with him, for he was fallen out with her worse 
than ever, because that two days before she had been at Versailles, 
and there he found her talking privately with the King, about 
affairs which were not fit to be communicated to him. She told 
me your majesty and the King here were both resolved upon a war 
with Holland, as soon as you could be agreed on the manner of it. 
These were the last words I had the honour to have from her till 
she fell ill, for Monsieur came in and interrupted her, and I 
returned to Paris the next day. When she fell ill, she called for 
me two or three times : Madam de Mechelburgh sent for me ; as 
soon as I came in, she told me, c You see the sad condition I am 
in ; I am going to die \ how I pity the King my brother ! for I 
am sure he loses the person in the world that loves him best.’ A 
little while after she called me again, bidding me be sure to say all 
the kind things in the world from her to the King her brother, 
and thank him for all his kindness and care of me. Then she 
asked me if I remembered what she had said to me, the night 
before, of your majesty’s intentions to joyn with France against 
Holland. I told her, yes; c Pray then, said she, tell my brother 
I never persuaded him to it out of my own interest, or to be more 
considered in this countrey; but because I thought it for his 
honour and advantage: for I always loved him above all things in 
the world, and have no regret to leave it, but because I leave him.’ 
She called to me several times to be sure to say this to you, and 
spoke to me in English. I asked her then if she believed herself 
poisoned : her confessor that was by, understood that word, and 
told her, £ Madam, you must accuse nobody, but offer up your 
death to God as a sacrifice so she would never answer me to that 
question, tho’ I asked her several times, but would only shrink up 
her shoulders. I asked for her casket, where all her letters were, 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


301 


to send them to your majesty : she bid me take it from Madam 
de Borde • but she was swounding* and dying* to see her mistress 
in that condition, and before she came to herself, Monsieur had 
seized on them. She recommended to you to help, as much as you 
could, all her poor servants: she hid me write to my Lord 
Arlington, to put you in mind of it, ( and tell the King* my brother, 
I hope he will, for my sake, do for him what he promised; car 
o’est un home qui Vayme , et qui le serf hien.’ She spoke afterwards 
a great deal in French aloud, bemoaning* and lamenting* the con¬ 
dition she knew your majesty would he in, when you heard the 
news of her death. I humbly beg* ag*ain your majesty’s pardon 
for having* been the unfortunate teller of so bad news; there being* 
none of your servants that wishes your content and happiness with 
more zeal and truth, than 

Sir, 

Your Majesty’s.” 

“Paris, July 15, 1670. 

“ My Lord, 

u I have, according* to your lordship’s directions, sent 
you here inclosed the ring*, which Madam had on her fing*er when 
she dyed ■ which your lordship will be pleased to present to his 
majesty. I have taken the liberty myself to g*ive him an account 
of some thing*s that Madam gave me in charg*e, presuming* your 
lordship would, out of modesty, he g*lad to he spared the telling* his 
majesty them yourself; there being* some thing’s that concern you. 
There lias been ever since Madam’s death, as you may imagine 
upon these occasions, various reports, that of her being* poisoned 
prevailing* above all the rest, which has disordered the ministers 
here, as well as the King*, to the greatest degree that can he. For 
my own particular, I have been so struck with it, that I have 
hardly had the heart to stir out since; which joined with the 
reports of the town, how much the King our master resented so 
horrid a fact, that he would not receive Monsieur’s letter, and that 
he had commanded me home, made them conclude that the King* 
our master was dissatisfied with this court, to the degree it was 


THE DUCHESS OF POKTSMOUTH. 


302 

reported. So that to-day, when I was at St. Germains, from 
whence I am newly returned, to make those compliments you 
ordered me to do, I am not able to express the satisfaction that the 
King- and every body had to know that the King- our master was 
a little appeased, and that those reports had made no impression in 
his mind to the disadvantage of the French. I g-ive you this 
account, my lord, that you may judg-e how much, in this con¬ 
juncture, they value the friendship of England, and how necessary 
our master’s kindness is to all their desig-ns. I do not doubt but 
there will be that use made of it, as may be most for the honour of 
the King* and the g*ood of the nation, which is the chief desire of 
him, who is, with all truth and sincerity, 

Yours.” 


u My Lord, 

u I am not able to write to you in my own hand, 
being* so lame, with a fall I had in coming*, that I can hardly stir 
either hand or arm; however, I hope in a day or two to g’o to St. 
Germains. 

* u This is only to g’ive your lordship an account, of what I 
believe you know already, of the Chevalier de Lorain’s being- 
permitted to come to court, and to serve in the army as a Marslial- 
de-Camp to the King-. 

u If Madam were poisoned, as few people doubt, he is looked 
upon by all France to have done it; and it is wondered at, by all 
France, that that King- should have so little reg-ard for the King* 
of England our master, considering* how insolently he always 
carried himself to her when she was alive, as to permit his return. 
It is my duty to let you know this, to tell his majesty; and if he 
thinks fit to speak to the French ambassador of it, to do it 
vigorously; for I assure you it reflects here much upon him to 
suffer it.” 


* This paragraph is in cypher in the original. 


THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH. 


303 


Charles Lennox, Duke of Richmond, Avas son to King* Charles 
the Second, by the Duchess of Portsmouth ; he was carried by his 
mother into France, in the reign of James, and returned to 
England in that of William, when he declared himself for the 
religion and constitution of his country. 

Spring' Macky describes him as u a gentleman g-ood-natured to 
a fault, very well bred,” with u many g'ood thing’s in him; an 
enemy to business, very credulous, well shaped, black complexion, 
much like King* Charles to which Dean Swift adds, that he was 
u a shalloAv coxcomb.”— Ed.] 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


“ Fair, kind, and true, is all the argument.” 

Shakspeare. 


Lady Mahy Butler was the youngest daughter of James, the 
great Duke of Ormond, consequently the sister of the Countess 
of Chesterfield and of the gallant Lord Ossory, of whom some 
account has already been given. She was born in 1040, when the 
duke her father was Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland for Charles I. 
Soon afterwards, in consequence of the distracted state of the 
country, Ormond was obliged to send his wife and children abroad. 
Lady Mary was then an infant about two years old, and she 
continued under the care of her mother, who resided privately at 
Caen, or at the Hague, until the Restoration. In 1002 the duke 
her father was again, and under happier auspices, appointed Lord- 
Lieutenant of Irelandj and in the same year, on the 27th of 
October, the whole family being* once more assembled at the ancient 
seat of the Butlers,—Kilkenny Castle, Lady Mary was married to 
William Lord Cavendish, son and heir of the third Earl of Devon¬ 
shire : she was then in her sixteenth year, and Lord Cavendish 
about two-and-twenty. This union, according to the manners of 
that day, had been previously arranged between the parents on 
both sides; but apparently there was no reluctance on the part of 
the bride, still less on that of the young bridegroom, who was 
already as much distinguished for his gallantry and accomplish- 






























































THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


305 


ments ; as she was for beauty, gentleness, and modesty. Carte, 
the prolix hut faithful historian of the Ormond family, pauses in 
his narrative of great events and political revolutions, to dwell for 
a moment on these auspicious nuptials. He tells us that “it were 
more easy to imagine than to describe the vast resort of persons of 
distinction, especially of the relations of the family, which were 
drawn together by this solemnity, and the glee and satisfaction 
which appeared in all faces upon so joyful an occasion and so happy 
a change of fortune, after so many dreary years of banishment, 
dispersion, and confusion.” 

If there was one clouded brow in the chapel of Kilkenny Castle, 
when Lady Mary gave her hand to the young heir of the 
Cavendishes, it must have been that of poor Lady Chesterfield or 
her moody lord. Their domestic felicity was at this time not quite 
perfect j but the occasion on which they were assembled, the 
presence of the Duchess of Ormond, who had lately taken pains to 
reconcile her charming but giddy daughter with her u mari loup- 
garou,” prevented any display of temper beyond a frown or a pout, 
and all was splendid hilarity and genuine Irish hospitality. The 
Duke of Ormond kept open house till Christmas, and the bridal 
party did not return to England till the following summer. 

After her marriage, Lady Mary bore the title of Lady Caven¬ 
dish during* the whole of the reign of Charles II., as her husband 
did not succeed to the earldom till 1686. # 

This noble, beautiful, and virtuous lady, as she is styled by her 
lord’s biographers, appears to have resembled her lovely sister-in- 
law, Lady Ossory, in disposition as in destiny. She was united to 
one of the most illustrious characters of the age; but in herself 
of so gentle and unobtrusive a temper, so little formed lor ambition 
or display, that she is principally interesting from the extraordinary 

* In tlie present time she would have been entitled Lady Mary Cavendish, 
being the daughter of a duke, wedded to the son ol an earl. 

X 


306 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


endowments and splendid career of her husband. Lord Cavendish 
appears to have possessed every quality which could excite the 
affection and admiration of his youthful bride, and every propensity 
that could militate against her happiness. If it be true, as all his 
biographers assert, that they lived in uninterrupted harmony,* it 
is the strongest and most comprehensive eulogium that could be 
pronounced on her temper and character. We do not hear much 
of the lady during 1 the first years of her marriage ] but a glance 
at Lord Cavendish’s known character and pursuits will show, that 
he must frequently have tried her forbearance, alarmed her affection, 
and pained her heart. He was uncommonly handsome and 
graceful, brave even to rashness ; mag-nificent to profusion in his 
habits and expenditure ; witty, and yet never, even in that licentious 
age, a forg-ot the distinction between the profane wit and the 
gentleman f'\ he united an inflexible temper with an exceeding- 
softness of manner and suavity of deportment; so that while his 
friends could not presume on his courtesy, his enemies could not 
resist the attraction of his manner. Perhaps he was married too 
young 1 , for we find him leading 1 , after his marriage, the life which 
a dissipated young 1 noble now leads before he has made up his 
mind to settle down into matrimony. His love of pleasure, his 
passion for g-ambling 1 and the race-course, and other extravagancies, 
appear to have frequently enrag'ed the old earl, his father, and 
plung-ed him into difficulties. Moreover (and this looks ill for poor 
Lady Cavendish’s domestic happiness), we find that the King 
forbade him the house of Nell Gwynn, or rather forbade Nell to 
see him; and he was in strict intimacy with the Duke of Mon¬ 
mouth, Tom Thynne, Lord Dorset, and other distinguished roues 
of that time, although he does not figure in De Grammont’s 
Memoirs; and yet, in the midst of these follies, he had qualities 
which must have rendered him as interesting and beloved in 
private, as his public career was historically glorious. His chival- 

* Dr. Kippis in the Biogr. Brit., and Dr. Ivennet’s Memoirs of the 
Cavendishes. 

t This was said of him by Dryden. 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


307 


rous gallantry often gave his wife occasion to tremble for his life. 
About six years after bis marriage, when Montagu was appointed 
ambassador to France, Lord Cavendish accompanied him to Paris; 
while there, he was one evening on the stage of the Opera* when 
some young officers of the royal guard came on, flushed with wine 
and insolence: one ol them addressed to him an insulting question, 
which Lord Cavendish immediately answered with a blow : the 
whole party then drew their swords, and rushed upon him • he set 
his back against one of the side-scenes, and defended himself for 
some time with the utmost bravery, but after receiving several 
wounds, he must have been overpowered by numbers, aud probably 
murdered on the spot, if a Swiss in Montagu’s service, a man of 
uncommon strength and stature, had not suddenly caught him in 
his arms and flung him into the pit:—he was thus saved; but in 
the fall one of the iron spikes caught his arm, and tore it severely. 
His conduct on this occasion, which was quite that of a hero of 
romance, gave him considerable eclat, not only at Paris, but 
through all Europe • and when Louis XIV. ordered his cowardly 
assailants to be put under arrest, Cavendish crowned his exploit by 
generously interceding for their pardon.')' 

His challenge to Count Koningsmark, who had been acquitted, 
(in defiance of the most damning proofs,) of the murder of his 
friend Thynne, was in the same spirit. He offered to meet the 
count in any part of the world, charge the guilt of blood upon him, 

* Both in the English and the Erench theatres, a part of the audience were 
at this time admitted on the stage, and sometimes mingled pell-mell with the 
players. 

f Vide Sir William Temple’s Letters to him, and Ivennet’s Memoirs of the 
Cavendishes. Sir William thus writes : “ I can assure your lordship, all that 
can be said to your advantage upon this occasion is the common discourse here, 
and not disputed by the Erench themselves ; who say you have been as generous 
in excusing your enemies, as brave in defending yourself. The Dutch will have 
it, that you have been the first in excess ; and say, that such a thing as seven or 
eight falling upon one, would never have been done in any other place but 
Erance, nor suffered neither by the rest of the company .”—Sir William 1 emple s 
Letters , vol. i. p. 70. 

x 2 


.308 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


and prove it with his sword; but that libertine and fanfaron 
avoided the encounter.* 

To the valour and bearing* of a paladin of old romance, Lord 
Cavendish added the spirit of an ancient Roman. While his 
gallantry and love of pleasure brought him into constant associa¬ 
tion with some of the wildest profligates of the court, his ardent 
love of liberty, his enlightened views of policy, his lofty principles 
of honour and patriotism, kept him constantly in opposition to the 
crooked and despotic measures of the government.'}' 

He and Lord Russell were considered as leaders of the Whig 
party; and when his heroic friend was persecuted to death by 
a venal and dissolute court, Cavendish, with his characteristic 
gallantry, was ready to run all risks for his deliverance : he offered 
to change clothes with him in prison, and thus effect his escape; 
and when this was declined, it was his intention to have waylaid 
the cavalcade on the road to execution with a troop of armed 
friends, and to have rescued Lord Russell by open force. Rut 
Lord Russell declared, that he would not suffer his friends to risk 
their lives for his sake ; and that having submitted to the decision 
of the laws, he was ready to endure the penalty. Lord Cavendish 
took leave of his friend as he was led out to death, and Lord 
Russell, after bidding him farewell, turned back, and in a few 
energetic words, entreated him to reform his libertine course of life, 
and reflect ere it Avas too late. Lord Cavendish made no answer, 
but Avrung his hand, and burst into a flood of tears. 


* See page 1G9, of this work. 

t Lord Cavendish would have been esteemed a liberal even in these liberal 
days, and considering the times in which he lived, we must wonder at the bold¬ 
ness of some of the articles of his political creed: he was of opinion that 
Parliament should be triennial, and openly complained (when in the House of 
Peers) that “ a little dirty borough might be bought for a certain price, as easily 
as a bullock at Smithfield !” He desired they would inscribe on his tomb, “ Here 
lies William Cavendish, the loyal subject of good princes, a hater of tyrants, and 
by them hated.” 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


309 


These last words of his noble friend probably made a salutary 
impression on the mind and character of Lord Cavendish. We 
find him thenceforward more retired from the court, living* a g*ood 
deal on his estates, and devoting* much of his time to state affairs : 
he is one of the very few public characters of Charles’s time who 
can be contemplated with unmingled satisfaction. And while 
u our youth ; all livery’d o’er with foreig*n gold/’ were contending* 
for the notice and favour of an arrogant mistress, and our states¬ 
men were selling* themselves and betraying each other; Cavendish 
recalls us to the spirit of classic times :— a It had been as easy to 
turn the sun from his course; as Fabricius from the path of 
honour !” # 

These things are matters of history; and are only mentioned 
here to give some idea of what the wife of such a man ought to 
have been; and ought to have felt. It is mortifying that we know 
so little relating to her personal habits; that there is so little 
mention made of her in the panegyrics on her husband ; and that 
the epithets; noble; beautiful; and virtuous; must comprise all that 
can be said concerning her.')' Yet this is perhaps the most 
significant praise of her character; as well as the most satisfactory 
evidence of her general contented and tranquil existence. The 
crimes or miseries of women make a noise in the world; their 
virtues and their happiness alike seek the shade. From the few 
allusions to Lady Cavendish; we may judge that she had sense 
enough to be proud of her husband; and affection enough to 
pardon his follies ; that she was domestic; of a most affectionate 
disposition; attached to her own family, and tenderly devoted to 
her children. In the first years of her marriage, when she 
appeared at court so very young, and with all the advantages of 
birth and beauty, a safeguard was formed around her in the 
virtues of her nearest connexions. Her own admirable mother, 
the Duchess of Ormond, and her aunt, Lady Hamilton, lived 

* The celebrated exclamation of King Pyrrhus. 

t See Lady Bussell's Letters. 


310 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


revered and respected in the court. Her lovely sister-in-law, 
Lady Ossory, and her cousin, Miss Hamilton, were among* its 
chief ornaments. The catastrophe of her sister, Lady Chester- 
held, thoug’h not necessary as a warning*, probably contributed, 
with other causes, to render her guarded in her conduct. Her 
mother-in-law, the Countess of Devonshire,* with whom she 
chiefly resided when in the country, seldom came to London ; 
she was an excellent and amiable woman, and had been a cele¬ 
brated beauty in her day :—while Lord Cavendish’s grandmother, 
the Countess-dowager,')' who lived for fourteen years after his 
marriage, was really one of the most extraordinary and celebrated 
women of the time. She preserved in her old age the talents, 
vivacity, and active habits of business which had distinguished her 
youth, resided almost constantly in or near London,']: and her 
house was the resort of wits, poets, statesmen,—in short, it was 
the Holland-House of that day. The King frequently dined with 
her in the beginning of his reign ; and her exertions in the royal 
cause, her correctness of conduct, and her commanding intellect, 
rendered her an object of general respect. Among these family 
connexions, Lad)' Cavendish must have passed many years of her 
life, fulfilling* her various duties with a blameless dignity. Her 


* Lady Elizabeth Cecil, daughter of the Earl of Exeter. There is a lovely 
picture of her by Vandyke at Burleigli-House ; and another, either a duplicate or 
a good copy, at Hardwick. When her son, Lord Devonshire, was fined thirty 
thousand pounds for pulling Colonel Culpeper’s nose within the verge of the 
court, “ his mother, the countess, who had long absented herself from court, 
made her appearance in the circle, and saying she was come to discharge her son’s 
fine, humbly desired that his majesty would accept of her delivering up bonds and 
other aclmowdedgments for above sixty thousand pounds, lent by her husband 
and his mother to his royal father and brother in their greatest extremities.” 
This was refused, but the decree was afterwards reversed as illegal and unjust. 

t Christian Bruce, daughter of Edward Lord Bruce. It has been the destiny 
of the noble house of Cavendish to be allied almost from generation to generation 
to remarkable women ; and of these, Christian, second countess, was one of the 
most remarkable : she had all the good qualities of the celebrated Bess of Hard¬ 
wick, of Elizabeth’s time, and none of her failings. 

X At Itoehampton. 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


311 


eldest son, William, was born in 1672; her second son, Henry, in 
1673, and she had a daughter and another son born previous to 
1680. # In 1684, Lord Cavendish succeeded to his father’s titles 
and estates, and became fourth Earl of Devonshire ; and, during* 
the reign of James, both he and the countess absented themselves 
almost entirely from court. The earl was deeply involved in all 
the secret measures which led to the Devolution. Yet, in the 
midst of these plots, and while his liberty and even his head were 
in danger, he amused himself with building and improving* his 
noble seat at Chatsworth, the principal front of which was erected 
by him as it now stands. In the beginning of the eventful year 
1688, he came up to London to complete the arrangements for 
the marriage of his eldest son with the eldest daughter of his friend 
Lord Dussell. Lord Cavendish was not then quite seventeen, and 
the bride about fifteen. Within two months after their nuptials, in 
August 1688, he sent his son abroad to travel for his improvement, 
perhaps also to be out of the way of the approaching* troubles. The 
bride remained at Woburn, under the care of her mother, Lady 
Dussell; and Lady Devonshire retired to Chatsworth, while the 
Devolution was effected, in which the earl took so distinguished 
a share. 

In February 1689, when William and Mary were proclaimed 
King and Queen, we find the Countess of Devonshire present at 
their first drawing-room, when she presented her daughter-in-law 
to the Queen. The lively and naive letter of the young Lady 
Cavendish on this occasion, addressed to her u beloved Sylvia” f 
gives the following account of her reception at court :— u You may 
imagine I was very much pleased to see Ormanzor and Phenixana, 
(i. e. William and Mary,) proclaimed King and Queen of England, 

* The dates of their birth do not appear. See one of Lady Russell’s letters, 
written in 1685, in which she mentions that on occasion of a fire, (at Montagu- 
House,) Lady Devonshire’s youngest boy was brought by his nurse, wrapt up in 
a blanket, and put to bed with her own son.—Letters, p. 89. 

f These sentimental designations, taken from the French romances, were 
fashionable at the time and long afterwards.—See the Spectator in many places. 


812 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


in the room of King* James, my father’s murderer. There was 
wonderful acclamations of joy, which; though they were very 
pleasing to me, yet frightened me too; for I could not hut think 
what a dreadful thing* it is to fall into the hands of the rabble,— 
the}" are such a strange sort of people. At night I went to court 
with my Lady Devonshire, and kissed the Queen’s hands and the 
King’s also,” &c.: in another part of the letter she says, with 
amusing naivete , that when the deputation from Parliament waited 
on William and Marv to offer the crown, u the Prince answered 
them in a few words, and the Princess made curtsies.”* In truth, 
it was rather an embarrassing situation for the daughter, who had 
come over to ascend her father’s throne. But in this case, as in 
others, e( silence spoke consent.” 

After the Devolution, the Earl of Devonshire was, in considera¬ 
tion of his great services, created Duke of Devonshire and Mar¬ 
quis of Hartington * and after filling some of the highest offices 
in the state, he died in 1707. The duchess survived him about 
three years; and having lived to see around her a numerous family 
of hopeful grandchildren, she died at Devonshire-House, July 31, 
1710, at the age of sixty-eight, and was buried near her father in 
Westminster Abbey. 

William, her eldest son, was the second Duke of Devonshire ; 
her second son, Lord Henry Cavendish, a young man of uncommon 
talents and merit, and infinitely beloved by his family, died in the 
life-time of his mother, in his twenty-seventh year. He left one 
daughter, who was married to the seventh Earl of Westmoreland. 

* See the whole letter, printed in the Life of Lady Bussell, prefixed to the 
letters of her husband. There is a lovely picture of young Lady Cavendish, the 
writer of the above letter, in the gallery at Hardwick ; the lips are full and red 
and a little pouting; there is something very fine and patrician-like in the turn 
of the head, and the whole air and expression. She was afterwards the second 
Duchess of Devonshire. Her young husband returned from his travels in the 
beginning of the year 1690 ; they afterwards lived happily together, and she 
became the mother of nine children. 


THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE. 


313 


The Duchess of Devonshire’s third son, Lord James Cavendish, 
of Stay ley Park, died in 1751. Her only daughter, Lady Eliza¬ 
beth, married Sir John Wentworth, of Broadsworth, in Yorkshire. 

The accompanying portrait has been engraved after the original 
picture in the gallery at Hardwick, where there are also several 
portraits of her gallant, accomplished, and illustrious husband; 
one of these, which represents him on horseback in full dress tl la 
Louis Quatorze , is a confused but imposing mass of wig and 
embroidery; but all the portraits, however various in merit or 
costume, agree in one point,—they are all eminently handsome and 
dignified—in the noblest style of manly beauty. 


MISS JENNINGS, 

AFTERWARDS DUCHESS OF TYRCONNEL. 


“ Say, Avliy are Beauties praised and honour’d most ? 
The wise man’s passion, and the vain man’s toast ? 
Why deck’d with all that land or sea afford ? 

Why angels call’d, and angel-like adored ? 

How vain are all these glories, all our pains, 

Unless good sense preserve what Beauty gains !’* 

Pope. 


When the Duchess of York found herself under the necessity of 
reforming’ her establishment of honourable handmaidens, she was 
resolved not to leave the selection of her new attendants to chance 
or interest^ but to depend on her own taste alone; and listen to no 
recommendations which were not presented in person. Her choice 
fell on Miss Temple; Miss Jenning*s, and Miss Churchill: we will 
discuss the last-mentioned first. 

Hamilton; who has done for the court of Charles II. what Ovid 
did for that of Olympus;—revealed to mocking* mortals u all the 
laugliing* scandal of the lower sky/’ has treated Miss Churchill 
with peculiar malice; and even denied her any pretensions to that 
beauty which she certainly did possess, if her portraits may be 
trusted. She was the eldest sister of him who was afterwards the 
great Duke of Marlboroug'h, but at this time merely an ensign 
in the Guards, and pag*e of honour to the Duke of York. When 




MISS JENNINGS. 


315 


they were first introduced to the court, about the year 1C64, Ara¬ 
bella Churchill was sixteen, and her brother about fourteen years 
old; and certain scandal-mongers affirm, that young Churchills 
rapid promotion was owing to his sister’s promotion in a different 
sense. She captivated the Duke of York more by the charms of 
her figure and manner, than her face; and she had not virtue 
enough to resist his importunities, or wit enough to make the best 
conditions for herself; but having, unhappily, forfeited her place 
and title of Maid of Honour, did not seek to parade or ennoble her 
deg'radation. She was the mother of four children by the duke; 
her eldest son, James Fitz-James, was the famous Marshal Due 
de Berwick, one of the greatest military characters of the last 
century ; and one of her daughters married the first Earl of Wal- 
degrave. Arabella Churchill afterwards married Colonel Godfrey 
of the Jewel-office, with whom she lived in the utmost harmony, 
and was respected for the correctness of her conduct and her 
domestic virtues. 

She died in 1730, at the great age of eighty-two, having sur¬ 
vived her lover, husband, and her children. The feelings and 
situation of this woman, about the beginning of the last century, 
when the sovereign who had loved her had been tumbled from his 
throne, and was living' a poor exile,—when her husband was serv¬ 
ing against him,—when her brother was opposed to the armies of 
Louis XIV., and her not less illustrious son defending the 
interests of that monarch in Spain,—must have been strange and 
interesting. 

“ Which is the side that I must go withal ? 

I am with all: each army hath a hand— 

Whoever wins on that side shall I lose— 

Assured loss before the match be played!” 

Miss Temple and Miss Jennings were of different metal,—metal 
purer as well as more attractive. Anne Temple, the eldest of the 
two, was the daughter of a Warwickshire gentleman of ancient 
family 5 she was beautiful, something of a brunette in complexion, 


310 


MISS JENNINGS. 


had a slight graceful figure, fine teeth, with a peculiar softness in 
her eye and smile. Her disposition was gentle and confiding, but 
vain and credulous; in short, Miss Temple, thrown among the 
shoals and quicksands of the court, seemed destined either to sink 
ingloriously, or make an illustrious shipwreck of her maiden 
honour. 


“ How each pirate eyes 
So weak a vessel and so rich a prize!” 

But she is a proof that simplicity and purity of mind are, in 
certain cases, a better safeguard than pride, or wit, or cunning': 
in spite of the predictions of those who had watched her debut and 
knew something of her character • in spite of the machinations of 
Rochester, who laid siege to her with equal art and audacity, Miss 
Temple came off victorious $ for in this case escape was victory. 
After being in the service of the Duchess of York for about two 
years, she married Sir Charles Lyttelton, who had lately returned 
from the government of Jamaica, and had greatly distinguished 
himself during the civil wars by his loyalty and military talents. 
Sir Charles was nearly forty, the lady not more than eighteen; yet 
the union proved in all respects happy. She was the mother of 
thirteen children : the rest of her life was spent almost entirely at 
Hagley, where she died in 1718. It is curious that her son Sir 
Thomas Lyttelton also married a Miss Temple, who was a Maid of 
Honour,* but no relation to his mother’s family $ and her grand¬ 
son was the first and celebrated Lord Lyttelton. 

Last came the heroine of our last memoir,—the fair, the elegant, 
the fascinating Frances Jennings$ she who moved through the 
glittering court u in unblenched majestywho robbed the men of 
their hearts, the women of their lovers, and never lost herself! 
The very model of an intellectual coquette' perhaps a little too 
wilful, a little too wary for a perfect woman; but in the flush and 

* Christian Temple, daughter of Sir Richard Temple of Stow, ancestor to the 
Duke of Buckingham. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


317 


bloom of early youth, and in the dangerous situation in which she 
was now placed, the first of these qualities was only an additional 
charm, the last a necessary safeguard. As to hearts and such 
thing's,— to bring them to Charles’s court was mere work of super¬ 
erogation ; it was like trading to the South-sea islands with 
diamonds and ingots of gold, where glass beads and tinfoil bear 
just the same value, and answered quite as well. 

Frances Jennings was the eldest of the three daughters, coheirs, 

of Richard Jennings, Esq. of Sunbridge, near St. Albans : her 

mother was Frances Thornhurst, daughter of Sir Gifford Thorn- 

hurst, a Kentish baronet. If we may give any credit whatever to 

the on clits of that time, the mother of Miss Jennings was more 

remarkable for her beauty than her discretion. Of the two other 

daughters, Barbara became the wife of Mr. Griffiths, a man of 

large fortune, and of her we hear no more. Sarah, who was 

younger than Frances by twelve or fourteen years, became the 

famous Duchess of Marlborough. 

© 

Miss Jennings was about sixteen when she was appointed Maid 
of Honour to the Duchess of York. She had no sooner made her 
appearance in the court circle, than she was at once proclaimed 
u oltre le belle, bella !” Over Miss Hamilton and Miss Stewart 
she had the advantage of youth and novelty, and over the others 
every advantage of mind and person. Her form was that of a 
young Aurora, newly descended to the earth • she never moved 
without discovering some new charm, or developing some new 
grace. Her eyes and hair were light, and her complexion trans- 
cendently fair \ but the rich profusion of her long tresses, the 
animated bloom upon her cheek, and the varying expression of 
her countenance and smile, left her nothing of that fadeur which 
often accompanies exceeding fairness of complexion. Her mouth, 
as Hamilton tells us, was not perhaps the smallest, but was 
certainly the loveliest mouth in the world. But Nature, in forming 
this exquisite clicf d’oeuvre, had in mercy to mankind left part of 
her handiwork imperfect. Some critics declared that the tip of 


313 


MISS JENNINGS. 


her nose was not de la dernierc delicatesse ; that her hands and 
arms were not quite worthy of the small foot and delicate ankle j 
and it was admitted that her eyes were not quite as perfect as her 
mouth. To her external attractions, Miss Jennings added what 
was rarely met with in the court of Charles,—all the witchery of 
mind, and all the dignity of virtue. Her conversation and deport¬ 
ment were alike irresistible, from a just and delightful mixture of 
softness and sprightliness. A little petulance and caprice of tem¬ 
per 5 a little heedlessness of manner \ a good deal of her sex’s 
pride, yet more vanity • a quickness of imagination which some¬ 
times hurried her to the very verge of an imprudence, and a natural 
acuteness and readiness of wit which as often extricated her,— 

“Yielding by nature, stubborn but for fame 

such, in early youth, was the character of La Belle Jennings. 

No sooner had the Duke of York beheld this fair frigate sailing 
in the wake of his consort, than he regarded her, as did others, as 
his predestinate and lawful prize, upon the principle which his 
brother Charles had created into u a rio-ht divine,” viz.—that his 
wife’s Maids of Honour were bound to Ids service as well as hers. 
The duke preferred his suit, and found, to his unspeakable surprise, 
that Miss Jennings did not subscribe to his favourite doctrine of 
non-resistance. His highness, who seems to have made love u avec 
toute la grace d’une chenille qui se traine sur les roses,” paraded 
his awkward devotion without scruple or disguise. He began by 
opening a battery of glances,—Miss Jennings looked another way. 
He next found words of pretty plain import,— Miss Jennings was 
either deaf, or most respectfully slow of comprehension. His 
presents were as ill received as his protestations, and his magnifi¬ 
cent promises excited only a smile,—beautiful indeed, but without 
even an accompanying’ blush to soften its provoking—its poignant 
significancy. 

The duke could not believe in his own defeat. It is true, he had 
lately brooked a repulse from the high-born, high-minded Miss 


MISS JENNINGS. 


G19 


Hamilton, who had the blood of half the nobility in her veins; but 
the spirit of this daughter of a country squire was an unheard-of 
assumption. u Que faire pour apprivoiser une impertinente vertu 
qui ne voulait point entendre raison ?” He next tried the effect 
of billets-doux, and finding- there was no other way to ensure their 
reception, he became his own Mercury. Day after day he con¬ 
trived to insinuate into the fair lady’s pocket, or into her muff, 
notes in the usual style,—prodigal of oaths, vows, promises. As 
etiquette did not allow Miss Jennings to fling 1 them hack in his 
highness’s face, she affected perfect unconsciousness, and only 
waiting till he turned away, carelessly drew out her handkerchief, 
or shook her muff, and, lo ! a shower of royal billets-doux ; which 
fell around her for the edification of whoever might choose to pick 
them up.* The gentlemen vmndered; the ladies tittered; the 
poor duchess,f who, in her adventitious elevation, sighed, and u was 
no duchess at her heart,” could not but forgive an impertinence 
which avenged her. The duke, angry and disconcerted, but too 
cold and proud to persist in a suit which only rendered him ridi¬ 
culous, carried his u lourds hommages” to the feet of Miss 
Churchill, and found that she at least w r as inclined u to listen to 
reason.” 

The fame of Miss Jennings now spread from St. James’s to 
Whitehall; J so much beauty, so much vivacity, and so much dis¬ 
cretion, appeared incomprehensible. The King himself was piqued 
to enter the lists, merely, as he said, to convince himself that it 
v r as to the unskilful tactics of the gentleman, not to the virtue of 
the lady, that this marvel was to be attributed. He set himself, 


* Miss Jennings here recalls to mind a story told, I believe, by Madame de 
Sevigne. One of the French princes of the blood having addressed a pretty 
bourgeoise rather disrespectfully, she replied with indignation, “ Pour Dieu ! 
Monseigneur, votre Altesse a la bonte d’etre trop insolente !” 
f Anne Hyde. 

t At this time St. James’s Palace was the residence of the Duke and Duchess 
of York : the King held his court at "Whitehall. 


3-20 


MISS JENNINGS. 


therefore, first half seriously, and then in very resolute earnest, to 
study Miss Jennings's fortifications. What might have been the 
event, history does not presume to guess; but, apparently, his 
progress was not encouraging, and Miss Stewart, who was then 
at the height of her power, was not inclined to give way to this 
new rival. She was seized with a fit of pouting and penitence,— 
dropped some hints about the Duke of Richmond, or a convent, 
which brought the volatile monarch hack to his allegiance, and 
all the honours of his supposed discomfiture rested with Miss 
Jennings. Scandal was silenced by a triumph which confounded 
all the calculations of the most knowing in these matters. Those 
who had ever entertained hopes or designs unworthy of their 
object now shrunk aloof, despairing to succeed where a King and 
a Prince had failed; and honourable suitors flocked around her. 

Just at this crisis, Richard Talbot returned from Ireland, 
whither he had gone to forget Miss Hamilton's charms and 
cruelty, but apparently without success. On his arrival in the 
court, he found Miss Jennings the last new topic of discourse. 
All voices were raised in admiration of her charms, and wonder at 
her prudence,—a prudence which so little accorded with the lively 
and almost too uno-uarded frankness of her manner. 

O 

Dick Talbot, for so he was familiarly designated, was descended 
from a younger branch of the Talbots of Malahide, who had been 
settled in Ireland since the days of Henry II. He had attended 
on the royal brothers in their exile, and to the Duke of York he 
was devotedly and blindly attached, partly from a principle of 
loyalty, and partly from a feeling- of gratitude. 

He was accounted the finest figure and the tallest man in the 
kingdom, and set off his noble form by a peculiar loftiness in his 
deportment. For his character, it seems to have combined 
extremes of good and ill. He was dissipated, rapacious, boastful, 
overbearing; loving bold ends for the sake of their boldness ; 


MISS JENNINGS. 


321 

witty, generous, devoted to liis friends; of great talents, headlong 
passions, and reckless valour.* 

It had been suspected, before Talbot’s departure for Ireland, 
that Miss Boynton, one of Queen Catherine’s Maids of Honour, 
had indulged for him some partial and fond regards ; and on his 
re-appearance at court, before he was introduced to Miss Jennings, 
the love-lorn nymph signalized her tenderness by fainting away. 
Talbot, as a man and an Irishman, could not behold a lady in 
such a pitiful case without feeling a wish to console her, particu¬ 
larly as Miss Boynton was really very pretty and elegant, though 
on the smallest and most fairy-like scale of beauty; he therefore 
began to pay her some attentions. Before he had proceeded 
beyond a few tender glances and equivocal compliments, the 
destinies placed Miss Jennings before him in all her unrivalled 
attractions; Miss Boynton was forgotten, and Miss Hamilton no 
longer regretted ; and as modesty was not among Talbot’s qualifi¬ 
cations, he at once threw himself at her feet, and tendered himself 
to her acceptance. 

We have reason to suppose that Miss Jenning's, though some¬ 
thing of a coquette, was coquette par calcul , rather than by instinct. 
She had no desire to extend her conquests, nor to remain in a 
court, the dangers of which she began to comprehend ; she wished 
to surrender honourably, and to secure a good establishment. 
But though the fine exterior and imposing manners of Talbot 
could not be disregarded, and his fortune and favour at court had 
due influence, his self-sufficiency seems to have a little shocked her 
high spirit: he was more favourably received than any former 
suitor, but he was not at once accepted. Talbot, who rightly 
thought that a woman who hesitates may be considered as won, 


* The unfavourable character which Clarendon has drawn of Richard Talbot 
should he taken with much reservation, when we remember that the Chancellor 
alloivs, in so many words, that he was noted for having a prejudice against all 
the Talbots. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


ftOO 

U-w-w 

pressed his suit with all the impetuosity of his character. The 
court considered them all but affianced^ when a trifling- circum¬ 
stance destroyed his hopes when nearest their completion, and to 
all human probability for ever. 

Miss Price, who has already been mentioned, still resided in 
the court; but from being- a Maid of Honour, had sunk into the 
office of bedchamber woman to the Duchess of Cleveland. The 
worse than equivocal character of Miss Price was perhaps unknown 
to Miss Jennings, while her wit, good-humour, and conversational 
powers captivated her, particularly as she took every opportunity 
of cultivating her good graces. At that time the multifarious 
occupations and amusements, which women of moderate fortune 
and comparatively confined education now command, were 
unknown; and we can scarcely, in these days, estimate the value 
of an entertaining companion to those who had few resources and 
lively spirits * to those who had no taste for the fadeurs of the 
eternal French romances ; as little for the excitements of hunt-the- 
slipper and blind-man’s-buff, and still less for the mysteries of 
chain-point and cross-stitch.* 

* “ Women in those days,” says a lively writer, “ possessed few of the means 
of self-amusement now in the hands of almost all the world. Music was culti¬ 
vated by none hut those whose strong natural taste and talent for it made them 
overcome all obstacles in its pursuit; drawing, or any taste for the fine arts, 
seems never to have been thought of, either as an employment of the hands, or a 
cultivation of the mind. In spite, therefore, of the numberless tapestry chairs, 
carpets, beds, and hangings, now, for the most part, discarded in rags from the 
garrets of then grand-daughters, an unsatisfied curiosity yet remains as to the 
amusements of the younger women, whose fortune and rank elevated them above 
the common every-day household cares of existence.” 

Tbe following entry in Pepys’ Diary, is extremely amusing and characteristic 
of the manners of the times. “ We found them (the Duke and Duchess of York) 
at dinner in the great room, unhung; and there was with them my Lady Duchess 
of Monmouth, the Countess of Falmouth, Castlemaine, Henrietta Hide, my Lady 
Hinchingbroke’s sister, and my Lady Peterborough ; and, after dinner, Sir James 
Smith and I were invited down to dinner with some of the Maids of Honour; 
namely, Mrs. Ogle, Blake, and Howard, (which did me good to have the honour 
to dine with and look on), and the mother of the maids, and Mrs. Howard, the 


MISS JENNINGS. 323 

But. while Miss Jennings encouraged Miss Price’s visits as a 
cordial against ennui, and became every day fonder of her society, 
lalbot viewed this intimacy with deep and well-founded disgust. 
He ventured to remonstrate, hut in doing so, assumed a tone 
which Miss Jennings thought more suitable to a husband of ten 
years’ standing, than a lover not yet accepted. Her high spirit 
was up in arms, and she received his interference with such pointed 
displeasure, and replied with such stinging raillery, that Talbot for 
awhile stood aloof in all the sullenness of offended pride. Miss 
Jennings, who was not very deeply in love, contrived to console 
herself; and poor Talbot, unable to carry on his assumed coldness, 
was again at her feet, all penitence and submission, but was received 
with such a scornful air, that he suspected a rival in the heart of 
his imperious mistress, and discovered him at last where he would 
least have expected to find him. 

Le Petit Jermyn, who had been banished from the court on 
account of the Duchess of Cleveland, had lately re-appeared, and 
absence had not dissipated the dazzling halo with which fashion 
and fancy had arrayed his empty head and insignificant person. 

This prince of coxcombs cast his eyes on Miss Jennings. She 
was young, with little experience, and much vanity : to bring* to 
her feet a man who was le terreur des mavis , ct le Jleau des amans , 
—the desperation of men and the perdition of women,—seemed a 
conquest worthy of her • and in the effort to fix this formidable 
rake, her own feelings became entangled before she was aware. 
The thinking part of the court, (if indeed there were any who 
thought,) wondered to see the proud, the fair, the elegant Frances 

mother of the Maid of Honour of that name, and the duke’s housekeeper here. 
* * * Having dined very merrily, we went up, and there I did find the Duke 

of York and Duehesse, with all the great ladies, sitting upon a carpet on the 
ground, there being no chairs, playing at * I love my love with an A, because he 
is so and so ; and I hate him with an A, because this and thatand some of 
them, but particularly the Duehesse herself and my Lady Castlemaine, were very 
witty.” 

v o 

I 


MISS JENNINGS. 


824 

Jennings caught in so flimsy a net; and Jermyn plumed himself 
as he justly mighty on the preference of one so lovely, and hitherto 
so circumspect. Meantime the Duchess of York began to feel a 
real and affectionate interest for Miss Jennings ; and as she had 
refused the protection of the duke, her own, in the fullest sense of 
the word, she was now resolved to extend to her. She spoke to 
Jermyn herself, who declared that his intentions towards Miss 
Jennings were strictly honourable. The duchess failed not to 
publish his reply; and Miss Jennings was congratulated on having 
reduced the invincible Jermyn to matrimony and good behaviour. 
Talbot, enraged at the levity of his mistress, yet more enraged by 
the contemptible rival she had given him, withdrew, after an 
ineffectual attempt to win back her heart: in a moment of pique 
he offered himself to the languishing Miss Boynton, and was 
accepted. 

Whether Miss Jennings heard of this with perfect indifference 
may be doubted ; but Jermyn was heir to an earldom, and twenty 
thousand a-year,* and moreover was very much in love—or 
seemed so : she therefore consoled herself; only she wondered not 
a little why the gentleman did not press for the possession of a 
hand which waited but the formal question to be bestowed on him, 
in her heart contrasting his nonchalance with the ardour and 
assurance of Talbot. Still, as day after day passed, her wonder 
grew; and as her wonder grew her love declined. 

It was now that Rochester put in practice that celebrated frolic 
so amusingly related in De Grammont, and so gravely recorded 
by his biographer Bishop Burnet. J Being forbidden the court, he 
assumed the disguise of a German astrologer and physician, and 
undertook to reveal the past and future to all whom curiosity or 
credulity might lead to his enchanted den, somewhere near the 

* lie was heir to his uncle, the rich old Earl of St. Albans. 

t Vide Life and Death of Wilmot, Earl of Rochester. The same freak was 
played by Sir Francis Delaval in the last century.—See the Life of Mr. Edge- 
worth. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


32.3 

precincts of Drury-lane.* Rochester’s wit and self-possession, 
and his knowledge of all the private scandal of the town, gave 
him an advantage over all the conjurors before or since. The 
fame of his extraordinary revelations reached the court, and spread 
astonishment and consternation through the whole tribe of abio-ails: 
even the Maids of Honour began to flutter with wonder, curiosity, 
and apprehension. Miss Price failed not to entertain her young* 
friend with all the gossip concerning this astrologer; and as she 
talked, Miss Jennings grew pensive. She was seized with a 
violent inclination to consult this wonderful man, who might, 
perhaps, be able to explain what appeared so inexplicable in the 
conduct of her lover. Her precious confidante assured her that 
nothing was more easy ; and, after some consultation, they agreed 
to dress themselves up as orange-girls, in hoods and serge petti¬ 
coats, and each a basket under her arm, and thus proceed to the 
den of the magician. To disguise the round vulgar figure of Miss 
Price was not difficult; but the distinguished air of Miss Jennings, 
whose figure and step were those of a young wood-nymph, could 
scarcely be concealed b} r any costume. Like the g’oddess in the 
Eneid, whose g*ait betrayed her through her mortal guise, so this 
“fair young celestial” stood revealed through her homely attire. 
Though perfectly conscious of her own attractions, of this natural 
consequence of superior beauty, she was unhappily unconscious, 
and the two damsels errant set forth boldly. They made their 
way from St. James’s, through the Park, to Charing-cross, got 
into a hackney-coach, and desired the man to drive to the residence 
of the conjuror. 

On their way they passed the theatre, called then the Duke’s- 
House, where the Queen and the Duchess of \ ork were seated in 

* The neighbourhood of Drury-lane was then the fashionable part of the town, 
and Bow-street, Covent-garden, was the Bond-street ol that day, the lounge and 
resort of all the wits and the beaux. Dryden somewhere mentions a lady as 
overwhelmed with billets-doux from Bow-street; on which Sir alter Scott 
observes, that, in these latter times, a billet-doux from Bow-street would be much 
more alarming than flattering. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


state. Miss Price, whose spirits were raised to a wild pitch ol 
extravagance, was of opinion that it would infinitely add to the 
jest of their escapade, if they were to alight, and offer their 
oranges for sale under the Duchess of York’s box. To this Miss 
Jennings consented 5 but just at the entrance of the lobby they 
encountered Le Beau Sydney, who was hastening to pay his court 
to the duchess.* He passed them, humming an air and combing 
his voluminous wig, too much occupied with his own graces to 
notice those which lurked under the little hood, and were now 
averted from his gaze. Not so Killigrew, who next advanced: he 
was struck at once by the nymph-like gait and air which broke 
through all disguise, and accosted the pretended orange-girl with 
a freedom which at once offended and terrified her. She began to 
think that she might sell her oranges too dear ' and Miss Price, 
observing that her indignation would betray her if her fears did 
not, drew her away in haste. They escaped through the crowd * 
and calling another hackney-coach, they again set forward, like 
Britomart and Glauce of old,']' u disguised in base attire,” to seek 
the cave of Merlin. 

Miss Jennings, whose courage was by this time oozing from the 
tips of her pretty fingers, still trembled with recent agitation when 
the coach stopped. Miss Price, whose mind was rather more dis¬ 
engaged, beheld, as she looked up, a pair of eyes fixed on them 
with a sort of exulting' and malignant leer which made her blood 
run cold: they were the very last she would have chosen to meet 
on such an occasion,—those of the witty, insolent, cynical, profli¬ 
gate Brounker; who, being one of the Duke of York’s equerries, 
was perfectly well acquainted with them both. Miss Price, in her 
fright, desired the coachman to drive on, and set them down a 
few yards in advance. Brounker, whose curiosity was strongly 
excited, followed with the perseverance of a sleuth-hound. The 
coach-door opened. Miss Jennings first stepped out * and, to his 

* He was said at the time to be in love with the Duchess of York, or she 
with him.—See Pepys. 

t Faerie Qucene, book iii. canto iii. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


327 


astonishment, an exquisite little foot; in an embroidered slipper, 
was disclosed from beneath the coarse serge petticoat. They now 
stood completely betrayed; and the cynical Brounker was enchanted 
by the discovery. He entertained the most degrading* opinion of 
the sex generally; and in proportion as the modesty and prudence 
of Miss Jennings had hitherto disconcerted all his preconceived 
notions on the subject; was his delight to find her (as he supposed) 
u no better than one of those to whom the vulgar give bold titles.” 
He addressed them; therefore; in their assumed characters with so 
much freedom and insolence, that Miss Jennings lost the little 
self-possession which remained to her, and Miss Price herself knew 
not which way to look. While Brounker enjoyed and prolonged 
their embarrassment, some little blackguards in the street began 
to steal their oranges; the hackney-coachman thought it incum¬ 
bent on him to protect his fare, and a squabble ensued. A crowd 
collected; and the hateful Brounker, having just waited to see 
them in almost inextricable distress and confusion, and without an 
attempt to rescue them, glided away through the crowd, exulting 
in the idea of the exposure he anticipated. The terrified damsels, 
abandoning their oranges to the enemy, scrambled into their coach 
and returned to the palace j Miss Jennings lamenting her impru¬ 
dence, and declaring that nothing* should induce her to proceed, 
and Miss Price reviling the stars, as u more in fault than they.” 

The malice of Brounker was so far disappointed, that though 
the story got abroad, and was related with the usual malicious 
exaggeration, it fixed no stigma on Miss Jennings j who, pro¬ 
bably, on seeing* the dilemma in which she was placed, had sense 
enough and wit enough to join in the laug*h at her own folly. It 
appears that the duchess pardoned her etourderie * We hear no 
more of Miss Price and her dangerous visits, and Jermyn con¬ 
tinued his attentions in a manner which kept all competitors at a 

* This adventure occurred about the beginning of February 1665, as appears 
from Pepys’ Diary, where it is mentioned incidentally among the gossip of the 
day. Yol. i. p. 331. 


828 


MISS JENNINGS. 


distance, but still without proposing- that critical and definitive 
question which his impatient mistress longed to hear. 

While week after week thus passed, and Miss Jennings fretted 
at her lover’s unaccountable and capricious delays, the government 
planned an expedition to the coast of Guinea, and the command 
was given to Prince Rupert. The fame of the leader, and the 
dangers of the expedition, fired the imagination of the young cava¬ 
liers ; and all who wished to give themselves eclat in the eyes of 
the public or their mistresses, volunteered to follow the prince. 
Amongst others, to the astonishment of the whole court, Jermyn 
asked and obtained permission to serve in this expedition. Such 
a step, taken at such a time, without the slightest reference to her 
wishes, or any explanation on his part, appeared to Miss Jenning’s 
equally ridiculous and insulting. It at once dissipated all illusion, 
and cured her of a passion which was more a fancy than a feeling. 
Jermyn, whose heartless coxcombry could not estimate the value 
of the heart with which he trifled, and who enjoyed the idea of 
calling up some tender tears of regret into the eyes of his fair one, 
waited on her to impart his warlike projects, and had prepared 
himself to resist, most heroically, her despair and her terrors at 
the dangers to which he was about to expose his valuable person ; 
but, instead of finding a dishevelled Ariadne, he was much sur¬ 
prised when the high-spirited Jennings received him with a smile, 
rallied him with the most poignant wit on his sudden love of g'lory, 
and then giving him to understand that she considered this as a 
final farewell, and had not the slightest wish to see him again, she 
civilly wished him bon voyage , and curtsied him out of the room. 

Ts ot satisfied with this private vengeance, she composed a ludi¬ 
crous parody on one of Ovid’s Epistles, addressed to Jermyn; 
some copies of which were dispersed through the court, and 
covered him with ridicule. It happened, after all, that Jermyn 
did not sail with the Guinea fleet; but Miss Jennings never gave 
him another opportunity of pretending to her hand. All his 
attempts to reinstate himself in her good graces were treated with 


MISS JENNINGS. 


scorn. She would not even listen to him; and after awhile, felt 
that to be rid of such a pitiful lover, was not so much a loss, as an 
escape. 

She was in temper as little inclined to indulge eternal regrets, 
as Jermyn was formed to inspire them • and soon she shone forth 
afresh in all the lustre of her beauty. The proof she had just 
given, that where pride and feeling were touched she could rise 
superior to vanity and interest, lent to her character a higher 
value, and to her youth and loveliness an additional charm. Num¬ 
berless suitors now pressed around her: among* them George 
Hamilton, (the younger brother of Miss Hamilton,) who has been 
so frequently mentioned.* He was young, noble, handsome, 
brave, good-natured—in short, he had but one fault; he had the 
trick of falling sincerely and desperately in love with every beauti¬ 
ful face that smiled upon him. His heart was a perfect furnace, 
which never lacked fuel. He had lately been jilted by Lady Ches¬ 
terfield, and entangled by the coquetry of Miss Stewart; but again 
free, the sparkling graces of Miss Jennings were not likely to be 
lost on such an inflammable subject. He was captivated at once, 
and though he was not u da hois dont on fait de grandcs passions f 
he was for this time very seriously and sighingly in love. 

Hamilton’s gay inconstancy was very different from levity: he 
was not a man who would lightly trust his honour to the keeping* 
of a woman who could lightly esteem her own. He was but a 
younger brother, with a younger brother’s portion; and Miss 
Jennings, in frankly accepting his addresses, gave the best proof 
that the insinuation conveyed in De Grammont, of her being cold 
and self-interested, is altogether unfounded. 

They were married in the year 1665. Hamilton soon after 
accepted military rank in the French service; and, after receiving* 
the honour of knighthood from Charles II., went over to France, 


* See the Memoirs of Lady Chesterfield and Miss Stewart. 


830 


MISS JENNINGS. 


accompanied by liis wife. It appears that he greatly distinguished 
himself abroad j thougli for what particular exploits he was soon 
after created by Louis XIY. Count and Mareschal-de-Camp, does 
not appear. He was unfortunately killed in Flanders within a few 
years after his marriage.* 

It is to be regretted that the personal notices of Lady Hamilton 
—or the Countess Hamilton, as she is generally styled — are 
henceforth extremely confused and obscure : to connect these, and 
to reconcile various and opposing’ dates, has been a matter of some 
difficulty. She could not have been more than two-and-twenty 
when she was left a beautiful widow with three infant daughters; 
and, it appears, that after her husband’s death she had a pension 
from France, and returned to England, where her daughters were 
certainly educated. 

The next notice I find of her is in Evelyn’s Diary: he notes 
that when the Earl of Berkeley was appointed Ambassador Extra¬ 
ordinary to Paris in 1675 (for the arrangement of the treaty of 
Nimeguen,) he accompanied the earl and his suite as far as Dover. 
u There was,” he adds, u in the company of my Lady Ambassa¬ 
dress, my Lady Hamilton, a sprightly young lady, much in the 
good graces of the family, wife of that valiant and worthy gentle¬ 
man, George Hamilton, not long afterwards slain in the wars.f 


* It is difficult to reconcile the dates in the peerages with the occurrences: the 
death of Sir George Hamilton is placed in 1667, and it is said that he left three 
daughters. Now it is clear from Pepys’ Diary, that Miss Jennings was still 
unmarried in the beginning of the year 1665 ; and from a passage in Evelyn, 
hereafter quoted, I am inclined to place . his death much later. In the notes to 
the Life of Lady Russell, this Sir George Hamilton is confounded with the 
Colonel Hamilton (his younger brother, I believe), who was taken prisoner at 
the battle of the Boyne. 

t Query —Not long after his marriage, or not long after the date of this 
memorandum ? Evelyn is frequently careless and obscure in the arrangement of 
his sentences, else we might presume witli certainty that Sir George Hamilton 
was at this time (1675) living. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


331 


►She had been Maid ol Honour to the duchess, and now turned 
Papist.” 

The conversion of Lady Hamilton to the Koman Catholic faith, 
appears a very natural consequence of her feelings and position, 
both before and after her marriage: the Duchess of York, her 
patroness, had formally renounced Protestantism, to the horror of 
her father Lord Clarendon, and the consternation of Dr. Burnet, 
who had previously had the charge of her conscience. All the 
Hamiltons were Catholics; and, whatever were the motives, 
whether feeling, or conviction, or expediency, which induced Lady 
Hamilton to change her religion, such change was in the sequel 
sincere, and adhered to with constancy and fervour. 

It must have been within the next two years, and while abroad 
with the Countess of Berkeley, that she again met Talbot, who was 
residing* in France, an exile,—not by the course of justice, but 
certainly not voluntarily, from his own country. He had always 
been distinguished as a bigoted Papist, and a devoted adherent of 
the Duke of York • and while the Popish plot and the Exclusion 
Bill inflamed the public mind, his master had insisted on his 
absence as a means of personal safety. The lovers met again, thus 
unexpectedly, after a separation of many years, each freed from all 
former ties, for Talbot was now a widower without children. In 
her, time and sorrow had subdued the petulance of early feelings; 
but still young and not less beautiful than ever, Talbot could not 
behold her without acknowledging at once u il segno del antica 
Jiamma .” And, in short, they were married at Paris about the 
year 1679. 

They were again in England in 1683 and 1684A Talbot still 
held his office of groom of the chamber to the Duke of York, and 


* It should, seem that Talbot was enabled to return to England through the 
mediation of the Duke of Ormond, whom he is said to have requited very 
ungratefully, by plotting the duke’s recall from the Irish government in 1684.— 
Vide Diary and Correspondence of Ilenry Earl of Clarendon. 


.302 


MISS JENNINGS. 


still kept his place in his favour and confidence; while his beau¬ 
tiful wife became as great a favourite with the new Duchess of 
York, (Maria cl’Este,) as she had been with the former one. On 
the death of Charles II. and the accession of the duke, in 1G85, he 
rewarded the steady and devoted attachment of Talbot by creating 
him Earl of Tyrconnel * and he was sent to take the command of 
the King’s forces, and support the Roman Catholic interest in 
Ireland; whither Lady Tyrconnel accompanied him. 

The Earl of Clarendon; son of the g-reat Chancellor; was Lord- 
Lieutenant. The military and civil government were thus divided ; 
and the continual disagreement between Clarendon and Tyrconnel; 
opposed as they were in religion; politics; temper, and character, 
kept Ireland in a state of distraction for the next few years. It 
must be allowed, that while Talbot possessed many splendid 
qualties, his manners were ill calculated to conciliate exasperated 
minds. He was insolent and violent, even to the verge of brutality; 
and when under the slightest excitation, every second word was a 
tremendous oath.* The spirit and temper of his wife were of a 
more intellectual order, and she is said to have ruled him without 
much effort; but, as all her prejudices and passions held the same 
direction, she on many occasions only added the fuel of her femi¬ 
nine impatience to his headlong self-will. 

* The “ swaggering” deportment of Talbot is very graphically described in 
some of Clarendon’s letters: but we must recollect that all the usual authorities 
on the subject of Talbot’s character and government are liable to suspicion, as 
proceeding from party animosity. Clarendon had inherited his father’s hatred of 
the Talbots ; and Talbot, who knew but one means to a given end, the short cut 
of violence, detested the slow, temporizing, insinuating policy of Clarendon. 

“ Two qualities Talbot possessed in an eminent degree—wit and valour: and if to 
gifts so brilliant and so Irish be joined devotion to his country, and fidelity to the 
unfortunate and fated family with whose exile he began life, and with whose ruin 
he finished it, it cannot be denied that in his character the elements of evil were 
mixed with much great and striking good. Under happier circumstances, the 
good might have predominated ; and he whose deeds are held, even by his own 
family, in such right estimation, might have shed a lustre on his race by those 
talents and heroism, which gave force to his passions and celebrity to his errors.” 
—Lady Morgan. 


333 


MISS JENNINGS. 

Lord Mel fort; one of James’s accredited agents in Ireland, 
speaks ot Lady Tyrconnel’s influence over her husband com¬ 
plains in his letters of her dissimulation and her intriguing* 
propensities; and asserts that the King’s affairs will never go well 
till she is persuaded to leave Ireland, and return to France. But 
before we attach too much importance to Lord Melfort’s opinion, 
we should consider that he hated Lady Tyrconnel, and was himself 
of a temper so impatient, officious, and meddling, that he became 
insupportable even to those whom he most wished to serve : he is 
accused of embroiling* the Kind’s affairs both in Ireland and at 
St. Germain’s, and was at length sent out of the way, under the 
pretence of a mission to Home. It is also observable that, though 
we have few particulars of the conduct of Lady Tyrconnel during 
this eventful period, the terms in which she is alluded to are 
generally favourable to her character, and leave a strong* impres¬ 
sion of her talents and her prudence, as well as of her influence. 

At the Revolution, Tyrconnel, faithful to the interest of his old 
master, refused to take the oath of allegiance to William III., and 
placed himself at the head of King James’s party in Ireland ; and 
James rewarded his fidelity by sending him over the patent of 
Viceroy, and appointing him Commander-in-Chief. Lady Tyr¬ 
connel, from this time, resided in Dublin Castle with her three 
beautiful daughters, now growing* into womanhood. She held her 
state as Vice-queen with much grace and magnificence ; and while 
her sister, Lady Churchill, threw all the weight of her influence, 
talents, and spirit into the opposite party, she supported with yet 
more enthusiasm the interests of the exiled family, in which all the 
Hamiltons and all the Talbots were engaged heart and soul. 

It was during her reign in Ireland,—for such it might truly be 
called,—that Lady Tyrconnel married her three daughters by 


* In allusion to some measures they were then contemplating, he says pointedly, 
“ This will draw in my lady, and consequently my lord,” &c .—Vide Macpherson’s 
State Papers. 


334 


MISS JENNINGS. 


Hamilton to three of the wealthiest and most powerful among* the 
Irish nobles. Elizabeth, the eldest, became the wife of Laurence, 
first Viscount Rosse; Frances, the second and most beautiful of 
the three, married Henry, eighth Viscount Dillon; and Mary, the 
youngest, married Nicholas Viscount Kingsland. They have 
since been distinguished as u the three Viscountesses.” 

In 1G89, when James II. had resolved to try his fortune in 
Ireland, he was met by Tyrconnel and a numerous train of gallant 
and devoted followers, and conducted to Dublin Castle, where 
Lady Tyrconnel entertained him and his foreign and Irish ad¬ 
herents with French urbanity and Irish hospitality. On this 
occasion Tyrconnel was advanced to the dignity of Marquis 
and Duke of Tyrconnel, and received from the King every mark 
of affection and confidence. Six months afterwards the battle of 
tlie Bo} T ne was fought, in which fifteen Talbots of TyrconneFs 
family were slain, and he himself fought like a hero of romance. 
After that memorable defeat, King James and Tyrconnel reached 
Dublin on the evening of the same day. The duchess, who had 
been left in the castle, had passed four-and-twent}? - hours in all the 
agonies of suspense; but when the worst was known, she showed 
that the spirit and strength of mind which had distinguished her 
in her early days was not all extinguished. When the King 
and her husband arrived as fugitives from the lost battle, on 
which her fortunes and her hopes had depended, harassed, faint, 
and so covered with mud that their persons could scarcelv be dis¬ 
tinguished, she, hearing of their plight, assembled all her house¬ 
hold in state, dressed herself richly, and received the fugitive King 
and his dispirited friends with all the splendour of court etiquette. 
Advancing to the head of the grand staircase with all her attendants, 
she kneeled on one knee, congratulated him on his safety, and 
invited him to a banquet; respectfully inquiring what refreshment 
he would be pleased to take at the moment. James answered, 
sadly, that he had but little stomach for supper, considering the 
sorry breakfast he had made that morning. She, however, led the 
way to a banquet already prepared 5 and did the honours with as 


MISS JENNINGS. 


335 


much self-possession and dignity as Lady Macbeth, thong’ll racked 
at the moment with equal terror and anxiety. 

The next day a council was held, when, in spite of the advice of 
the Duke and Duchess of Tyrconnel, James acceded to the wishes 
of Lauzun and his French followers, who were panic-struck, and 
determined on flying* to France. In the confused accounts of the 
movements of the two parties at this time, we find no farther 
mention made of the Duchess of Tyrconnel, whose situation must 
have been in the highest degree interesting and agitating: it 
appears, however, that she and her husband quitted Ireland, either 
in company with the King, or immediately after him, leaving her 
three married daughters, and taking with her her two children by 
Tyrconnel. She joined the exiled court at St. Germain’s, where 
she remained for several years. 

In the troublesome times which ensued, Tyrconnel continued 
to maintain the cause of James II. in Ireland with unshaken 
loyalty and courage, through evil repute and good repute: he 
was destined, however, to exhibit another proof of that ingrati¬ 
tude which has been the stigma of the whole race of Stuart, and 
the curse of those who were devoted to its fortunes. Talbot, who 
hated the French party, and was disgusted by their insolence and 
exactions, threw himself into the Irish party; and it is even said 
that his first wish (so changed was he now by time, and cares, and 
calamity,) was to give peace to his own wretched country by 
acting- as moderator between all the factions.* However this 
may he, King James became mistrustful of his old and faithful 
servant; and, with a thankless duplicity, sent over a commission, 
superseding Tyrconnel in all his governments and the chief com¬ 
mand : but so loved as well as feared was Tyrconnel throughout 
the whole country, that it was deemed necessary to keep this com¬ 
mission and his disgrace a profound secret. At length, in 1091, 
when preparing to defend Limerick for the second time against 
William III., Tyrconnel died suddenly by poison administered in 

* Harris’s Life of William III. 


MISS JENNINGS. 


330 

a cup of ratafia. The times were so critical, his enemies were so 
numerous and bitter, and his friends so divided and so wrong¬ 
headed, that his death caused onty a temporary excitement: the 
sieo-e went on, and the celebrated Sarsfield succeeded Talbot in the 
chief command.* 

After the death of her husband, the Duchess of Tyrconnel con¬ 
tinued to reside abroad till the dispersion of the court of St. 
Germain’s, and the marriage of her daughters by Talbot. During’ 
this time she appears to have been reduced to great distress and 
poverty, for she is mentioned among the poor Jacobites who were 
assisted out of the pension which James II. received from the 
Pope. She received on this occasion three thousand crowns, 
(about four hundred pounds,) but it was only a temporary relief. 
In 1705 she was in England, and had a private interview with 
her brother-in-law, the Duke of Marlborough, then at the height 
of his power. Respecting her visit to England, Horace Walpole 
relates a singular anecdote, for which he does not give his authority ; 
hut he was personally acquainted with so many of the family, that 
his own authority, as the very prince of biographical gossip, may 
be considered all-sufficient. 

At that time, part of the Royal Exchange was let out in 
small stalls or shops, perhaps something like a modern bazaar, 
and was a favourite and fashionable resort of women of the hio-hest 
rank. It is said that the Duchess of Tyrconnel, being reduced to 
absolute want on her arrival in England, and unable for some time 
to procure secret access to her family, hired one of the stalls under 
the Royal Exchange, and maintained herself by the sale of small 
articles of haberdashery. She wore a white dress wrapping her 

* Limerick surrendered ou the 13th of October, 1691. The first siege of 
Limerick, in August 1690, when Tyrconnel and the Duke de Lauzun nobly 
defended it, and obliged William III. to raise the siege, is famous in the mili¬ 
tary history of Ireland ; and the second siege, which ended in the surrender 
of the city, is yet more fatally celebrated in the political annals of that miserable 
country. 


MIS'S JENNINGS. 


337 


whole person, and a white mask, which she never removed, and 
excited much interest and curiosity. 

It is now very well known, that the Duke of Marlborough was 
at this time carrying on some intrigues with the exiled court and 
the leading Jacobites ; and it is possible, and very probable, that 
his interview with the Duchess of Tyrconnel was partly of a 
political nature: this, however, can only be presumed. The more 
apparent result of this visit was, that she obtained the restoration 
of a small part of her husband’s property, with permission to reside 
in Dublin. To that city, perhaps endeared to her as the scene of 
past happiness, and power, and splendour, she returned in 1700, a 
widow, poor, proscribed, and broken-hearted. The account of the 
last years of this celebrated beauty, and really admirable and 
distinguished woman, cannot be contemplated without a sad and 
serious feeling*. While her high-spirited sister, the Duchess of 
Marlborough, was ruling the councils of England, or playing a 
desperate and contemptible g*ame for power,—the sport of her own 
turbulent passions, and the victim of the perfidy and the artifices 
of others,—the Duchess of Tyrconnel withdrew from the world : 
she established on the site of her husband’s house, in King-street, 
a nunnery of the order of Poor Clares, and she passed, in retreat 
and the practice of the most austere devotion, the rest of her varied 
life. Her death was miserable : one cold wintry night, during an 
intense frost, she fell out of her bed; and being too feeble to rise 
or call for assistance, she was discovered next morning lying on 
the floor in a state of insensibility. It was found impossible to 
restore warmth or motion to her frozen limbs j and after lingering 
a few hours in a half lethargic state, she gradually sank into death. 
She expired on the 29th of February, 1730, in her eighty-second 
year ; and on the 9th of March following, she was interred in the 
cathedral church of St. Patrick. 

Her eldest daughter by the Duke of Tyrconnel, Lady Charlotte 
Talbot was married to the Prince de Yintimiglia, and left two 
daughters : the eldest married the Comte de Verac, and the other 

z 


338 


MISS JENNINGS. 


the Neapolitan Prince Belmonte ; but both died without 
leaving* any offspring. Of the youngest Lady Talbot, I find no 
account. 

Of the a three Viscountesses,” Lady Dillon appears to have 
been the most remarkable, and to have inherited, with the high 
blood of the Hamiltons, no small share of that lively and wilful 
temper which distinguished her mother’s family. There is a curious 
tradition respecting her still preserved among the peasantry of the 
country in which she resided. It is related that, on the death of 
Lord Dillon, she inhabited Laughlin Castle, then only one of the 
numerous castles and palaces possessed by the Irish Dillons. This 
princely feudal edifice covered two acres of land; and, with the 
estate round it, was assigned to her as her jointure, but with the 
proviso, that she should reside during her life in the castle. The 
lady, in her widowhood, was seized with a passion for a young* 
Englishman; and being unable to detain him with her, or to follow 
him to England as long as her castle existed, she determined on 
the wildest and boldest project that ever entered the head of an 
impetuous woman borne away by the violence of passion: she 
ordered a banquet to be spread in her garden, then fired the castle, 
and feasted by the light of the blazing* pile. After supper, and 
while the towers were yet burning, she set off for England with her 
lover. 

Such is the tale of the peasantry round Laughlin Castle; and 
it must be allowed that there are few anecdotes more striking and 
picturesque to be found in the chronicles of romance. 

The present Viscount Dillon is the lineal descendant of La Belle 
Jennings. Arthur Dillon, who was g’uillotined during the French 
Devolution, was her great-great-great-grandson; his daughter, 
Fanny Dillon, married General Count Bertrand, celebrated for his 
fidelity to Napoleon, and his long residence at St. Helena. 

Portraits of the Duchess of Tyrconnel are extremely rare, and 


MISS JENNINGS. 


339 


those engraved for the various editions of De Grammont are all 
fictitious. The engraving, which forms the frontispiece to this 
work, is from an original picture in the possession of Earl 
Spencer. 


[It seems not to have been in 1705, but in 1708, that Lady 
Tyrconnel visited England. The correspondence of her sister, the 
Duchess of Marlborough, lately published by Mr. Colburn, seems 
to set at least the manner of her visit, and the conduct of the 
Duke of Marlborough, in a light entirely different from that in 
which it appears in the foregoing- narrative. The duke was in 
Flanders, occupied in the movements which preceded the battle of 
Oudenarde. On the 14th of May, he writes to the duchess, from 
Brussels, u I went yesterday to wait upon Lady Tyrconnel, who I 
think is grown very old, and her hoarseness much worse than when 
I saw her last.” Three days after, May 17, he again writes, u I 
was yesterday a long- while with Lady Tyrconnel, who complains 
very much of the non-payment of their rents; by what they say, 
I am afraid they are very unjustly dealt with.” On the 24th of 
the same month, the duke says, u When I took leave of Lady 
Tyrconnel, she told me that her jointure in Ireland was in such 
disorder, that there was an absolute necessity for her going- for 
two or three months for the better settling of it. As the climate 
of Ireland will not permit her being there in the winter, she should 
begin her journey about ten days hence : she said that she did not 
intend to go to London, but hoped she might have the pleasure of 
seeing you at St. Albans. I have offered her all that might be 
in my power to make her journey to Holland and England easy. 
As also, that if she cared to stay at St. Albans, either at her going 
or return, you would offer it her with good heart. I ou will find 
her face a g-ood deal changed, but in the discourse I have had with 
her, she seems to be very reasonable and kind.” On the 31st, u I 

z 2 



£40 


MISS JENNINGS. 


had a letter } T esterday from your sister Lady Tyrconnel; in which 
she tells me that she leaves Brussels in two or three days^ and that 
her stay in Holland will be no longer than by going b} T the first 
safe opportunity; so that you will hear very quickly from her.”— 
Ed.] 



INDEX. 


Admirals, Gallery of, 48. 

Althorpe, Earl Spencer’s mansion, de¬ 
scribed, 243, 246, 294. 

Anne, Queen, 211, 247. 

Arlington, Earl of, 90, 2/6, 277, 284, 
294. 

Arran, Earl of, 194, 195. 

■-, Countess of, [Anne Spencer] 

244, 247. 

Aubrey, the antiquarian, his account of 
Sir John Denham, 139, 141, 142. 

Audley-End, a fair there, visited by Ca¬ 
therine and her court, 70. 

Bagot, Miss Elizabeth, 212, 214; beauty 
of, 215; her happy union with the 
Earl of Falmouth, 216; her subse¬ 
quent marriage with the Earl of Dorset, 
218 ; portrait of, by Lely, 219. 

--, Colonel Ilervey, a royalist, 215. 

Bastide, the French envoy, 57. 

Beauclerc, Lord Vere, 159. 

--, Lord Sidney, (father of Top- 

ham Beauclerc,) 159. 

-, Lord James, 159. 

Beauties of Charles II.’s court, 28 ; 
painted by Lely, 41; of ‘ Hampton 
Court,’ painted by Kneller, 45 ; of 
‘ the time of George III.,’ painted by 
Reynolds, 49 ; of ‘ the Regency,’ 
painted by Lawrence, ib. 

Bellasys, Lady, her splendid portrait, 
230, 235 ; particulars relative to her 
husband, 232; who was killed in a 
duel with Tom Porter, 233 ; the Duke 
of York’s marriage contract with, 233, 
234 ; created a Baroness, 234 ; mar¬ 
ries Mr. Fortrey, 235 ; her son Henry, 
Lord Bellasys, ib.; she is well received 
by Queen Anne, ib.; her death, ib. 

Blague, Miss, 43, 1J1, 214. 

Blenheim Gallery, the, 26. 

Boynton, Miss, 43, 321. 

Bridgewater, Countess of, her personal 
attractions, 26, 48, 

Bristol, Earl of, [George Digby] his ad¬ 
vice to Charles II., 55, 72 ; court 


intrigue of, 138; his daughter, Lady 
Sunderland, 238 ; his extraordinary 
caprices,ib.; ingratiates himself into the 
King’s favour, ib.; his eloquence when 
called to the bar of the Commons, 239. 

Brooke, Sir William, 138. 

Brounker, Lord, a famous chess-player, 
140; alluded to, 141,326. 

Buckingham, Duke of, a mad proposal of, 
70, 72; disgrace of, 87 ; his power at 
Court, 94, 120; his dispute with Os- 
sory, 130; attracted by Miss Stewart’s 
fascinations, 176 ; and deceived by 
her, 177; his inconsistencies, 275. 

-, Duchess of, 70. 

Bulkeley, Lady, [Sophia Stewart] 185. 

Burlington, Richard, Earl of, [Cork and] 

201 . 

Burnet, Gilbert, Bishop of Salisbury, an¬ 
ecdote of, 70; employed to write in 
favour of a royal divorce, 72 ; his style, 
84 ; allusion to, 97 ; speaks of Nell 
Gwynn, 154, 157 ; of Lord Clarendon’s 
disgrace, &c. 183, 208; various allu¬ 
sions to, 236, 276, 295. 

Butler, satires of, 37, 141 ; neglect of 
this witty and original poet, 164. 

Byron, Lord, quoted, 27 ; stanza of, 167. 

-, Lady, [Elinor Needham] 230. 

Carnegie, family of, 225 ; their misfor¬ 
tunes, 228. 

Castlemaine, Lady : see Duchess of Cleve¬ 
land. 

-, Earl of, [Roger Palmer, Esq. 

so created] 80, 81, 89, 91. 

Catherine of Braganza : the Duke John, 
her father, secures the crown of Portu¬ 
gal, 53 ; the princess’s education, ib.; 
overtures to Charles II. relative to her, 
54; her dowry, 55 ; the portion in 
money left unpaid, 59 ; her nuptials, 
60; her beauty and manners, 61 ; cos¬ 
tume of, ib.; her ladies sent back to 
Portugal, 62 ; she refuses Lady Castle- 
maine’s appointment, ib. ; faints on an 
unexpected interview with her, 63 ; neg- 












342 


INDEX. 


lected by the King, 66 ; her shrewd 
reply to Lady Castlemaine, 57 ; her 
anxiety to have children, ib.; latent 
affection and respect shewn by the 
King towards her, 68 ; does not inter¬ 
fere in politics, 69 ; recovers her gaiety, 
ib.; libels and satires on, 71 ; accused 
of designs against the King, 72 ; but is 
exonerated by the monarch, 73 ; his 
death, 74 ; the Queen-dowager’s mode 
of life at Somerset-house, ib.; her death 
at Lisbon, 75 ; portrait of, by Lely, 
ib. ; character of, by Clarendon, 76; 
reconciled to Lady Castlemaine, ib.; 
her religious devotion, 93 ; her masked 
ball described, 108 ; letter of, 135 ; 
her reception of Miss Stewart, 182; 
her forbearance towards the Duchess 
of Portsmouth, 282. 

Cavendish, Lady, [daughter of "William 
Lord Russell] 311; letter from her, 
ib.; portrait of, 313. 

-, Lord, 305 ; his extraordinary 

affray at Paris, 307 ; his parting with 
his friend Lord Russell, 308 ; his high 
principles of honour, 309 ; succeeds his 
father, 311; takes part in the Revolu¬ 
tion, ib. ; is created a Duke, 312. 

Charles I., his portrait at Sion-house, 41 ; 
good morals and example of, 64; his 
ward, Lady Elizabeth Desmond, 120. 

Charles II., beauty and gallantry at his 
Court, 28 ; represses luxury of dress, 

31 ; but perseveres not in that reform, 

32 ; a patron of music and operas, 38 ; 
portraits of, 45 ; obtains Bombay and 
Tangier, 55 ; said to be a Catholic, 56 ; 
political intrigue of, ib.; indignant at 
the presumption of Louis de Haro, the 
Spanish ambassador, 57 ; resolves on 
his marriage, ib. ; disappointed of the 
Queen’s dowry, 59; celebration of bis 
marriage, 60; writes to Clarendon re¬ 
lative to the Queen, 61 ; his neglect 
of the Queen, 66 ; his attentions to her 
during her illness, 67 ; declines the 
proposed divorce, 70 ; exculpates the 
Queen from the accusations against her, 
73; particulars relative to, 74 ; clan¬ 
destinely visits Mrs. Palmer, 80 ; cre¬ 
ates her husband an Earl, and appoints 
her to be one of the Queen’s ladies, 81 ; 
parallel between the King and Henri 
Quatre, 82; his lavish grants to Lady 
Castlemaine, 84, 93 ; her violent tem¬ 
per, 85, 87 ; rivals of the King in her I 


good graces, 88; confers new titles on 
her, 89 ; his children by her, and their 
titles, 90 ; receives a letter from her 
from Paris in her disgrace, 96—101 ; 
banishes her the country, 101 ; his 
conversations with the Chevalier de 
Grammont, 110; his letter respecting 
Miss Hamilton, 113 ; captivated by 
Nell Gwynn, 153, 163; how recalled 
by her to attendance at Council, 164 ; 
his love for Miss Stewart, 173,178,180 ; 
detects the Duke of Richmond with her, 
181; his temporary reconciliation w ith 
her, 182; his indignation on her mar¬ 
riage with the Duke, 183; offers her 
no further molestation, 184 ; his dis¬ 
like of the Earl of Chesterfield, 191; 
his grief for the death of the gallant 
Falmouth, 217; desires Montagu at 
Paris to consult a famous astrologer, 
265 ; shameful treaty effected with, by 
the Duchess of Orleans, 274 ; is fas¬ 
cinated with the beauty of Mile, de 
Queroualle, 275; has a son by that 
lady, 277 ; narrowly escapes the snares 
of the Duchess of Mazarin, 279 ; jewels 
for his niece [Queen of Spain] inter¬ 
cepted by De Queroualle, 281 ; be¬ 
comes the slave of his mistresses, 282 ; 
obtains the sobriquet of ‘ Old Rowley,’ 
283 ; his treaty with Louis XIV., ib., 
287 ; his abandonment of the national 
interests, 285 ; venality of his courtiers, 
284, 285 ; measures of the Whigs, 285 ; 
calls no parliament, 283, 287 ; vexa¬ 
tion arising to him from the treaty 
with France, 288; he becomes jealous 
of a French nobleman, 289 ; dies a Ca¬ 
tholic, 290; anecdotes of, 294 ; death 
of his sister, Henrietta, by poison, 
295—302 ; rumours as to the cause of 
his death, 295. 

Chatillon, Chevalier de, letter from the 
Duchess of Cleveland respecting him, 
96, 99, 100. 

Chatsworth, Derbyshire, the splendid 
mansion of the Duke of Devonshire, 
311. 

Chelsea Hospital, its institution how pro¬ 
moted, 155, 164. 

Chesterfield, Countess of, [Elizabeth But¬ 
ler, daughter of the Duke of Ormond] 
green stockings of, 31, 195; guitar 
played by, 40; her talents, 175; her 
marriage, 190 ; indifference of the earl 
to her, 191; vet he becomes enamoured 







INDEX. 


343 


of her, 192; jealousy ensues, 192, 193; 
he forcibly carries her from court to his 
country-house, 195; she signalizes her 
vengeance on George Hamilton, the ad¬ 
viser of her abduction, 196; her daugh¬ 
ter, Elizabeth Stanhope, becomes 
Countess of Strathmore, 197 ; her 
death, ib.; the earl suspected of poison¬ 
ing her, 198 ; her portrait by Lely, 
ib. ; allusion to, 305. 

Chesterfield, Philip, Earl of, his mar¬ 
riage, 189; temper and character of, 
190; his unhappy union, 190—195; 
his second Countess, 197; frightful 
tradition relative to, 198 ; his general 
character, 200, 305. 

Churchill, Arabella, [sister of Marlbo¬ 
rough] 314; her eldest son James 
Fitz-James, Duke of Berwick, 315; her 
union with Colonel Godfrey, ib. ; her 
curious political position, ib. 

Cibber, Colley, anecdote related by, 157. 

Clancarty, Earl of, [Donogh Macarty] 
244. 

Clarendon, Lord Chancellor, 55 ; his ac¬ 
count of the Earl of Sandwich, 58; he 
is ordered to reconcile Catherine of 
Braganza to Lady Castlemaine, 63; his 
diplomacy to that effect, 64 ; character 
of the Queen given by, 76 ; disgraced 
and banished from Court, 83, 183 ; his 
children, 202, 203 ; passages of his 
history, 107, 176, 216. 

-, Countess of, [Theodosia 

Capel] 43. 

•---, Earl of, [son of the great 

Chancellor] 202, 203, 332. 

“Clarendon Papers,”the, 204, 332. 

Cleveland, Duchess of, moral to be de¬ 
rived from her history, 29 ; appointed 
a lady to Queen Catherine, 62 ; scene at 
Court in consequence, 63; at length re¬ 
ceived by the Queen, 67; is familiarly 
treated by her, 76 ; her father and fa¬ 
mily, 79 ; her husband created Earl of 
Castlemaine, 80, 81 ; the declared mis¬ 
tress of Charles II. immediately after 
the Restoration, 80 ; their early corres¬ 
pondence, ib.; quits her husband, 82; 
causes the downfall of Clarendon, 83 ; 
her rapacity and extravagance, 84 ; her 
tyrannical dominion over Charles, and 
his submissiveness, 85,138, &c.; resents 
the disgrace of Buckingham, 87 ; her 
anger renewed, the King makes his 
peace with her bv patents of nobility, 


88, 89; her notice of Wyclierly, 87; 
confers favours on young Churchill, 
[Marlborough] ib.; marries Beau Field¬ 
ing, 89 ; dies of dropsy, 90 ; titles of 
Charles II.’s descendants by this lady, 
ib.; her great beauty, 91, 92; visits 
Bartholomew Fair, 92 ; her portrait, 
ib.; resume of her history, ib.; her in¬ 
fluence renewed, 94 ; dismissed by the 
King into France,ib.; her extraordinary 
letter to Charles, 96—101; her banish¬ 
ment, 101 ; her contests with Miss 
Stewart, 174, 181; her spies and per¬ 
fidy, 181, 265 ; some allusions to, 190, 
192. 

-, Dukes of, [an extinct peerage] 

90. 

Cleveland-row, Berkshire-House in, 85. 

Coffee-houses, establishment of, 37. 

Colbert, the French ambassador, 277. 

Commons, proceedings of the House of, 
on the Popish Plot, 73. 

Cornbury, Lord, his marriage with Theo¬ 
dosia Capel, 183, 202. 

Costume in the reign of Charles II. 29 ; 
locks flowing down the shoulders, 30 ; 
dress of the ladies, ib. ; patches, 31 ; 
riding habits, 32 ; cocked hats, ib. ; 
perukes, ib.; painting and rougeing, 
33 ; hoods and trains, ib.; neck and 
shoulders displayed, ib. ; coiffure, ib.; 
high boddices, ruffs, and farthingales 
of the Portuguese ladies of Queen 
Catherine, 61, 62. 

Court, costume at, 29 ; scandal at, 37 ; 
music and the Opera, 38 ; painters at, 
41, &c. ; beautiful women composing, 
ib. &c.; reception of the Infanta Cathe¬ 
rine at, 54, 61; contest regarding Lady 
Castlemaine at, 62; the Queen’s masked 
ball at, 108; Nell Gwynn at, 153; Miss 
Stewart, Maid of Honour, 174; pas¬ 
times at, 176 ; Miss Stewart’s retire¬ 
ment from and return to, 184; the 
Duchess of Portsmouth’s power at, 
277—290. 

Cromwell, hypocrisy in his Court, 78 ; 
his fear of the Duke and Duchess of 
Ormond, 123, 124 ; facetious idea of 
bringing him back, 165. 

Dahl, the Swedish portrait painter, 48. 

Danby, Lord Treasurer, 266. 

Dangeau, Marquis de, 116. 

Davenant, Sir William, operas of, 38; 
curious apology made by, 150. 









344 


INDEX. 


Denliam, Sir John, the poet, 139; in¬ 
sanity of, 141 ; Aubrey’s Life of, 142; 
his works, 143. 

■-, Lady, history of, 138 ; sur¬ 

mises respecting her death, 141; her 
portrait, 142. 

Devonshire, [Christian Bruce] second 
Countess of, 310. 

-, [Elizabeth Cecil] Countess 

of, 310. 

-, William, Duke of, 304. 

-, Duchess of, [Lady Mary 

Butler] 191 ; life of, 304 ; her family 
much respected, 309 ; her son William 
espouses the daughter of Lord Russell, 
who was attainted, 311; history of the 
family, 312 ; her portrait, 313. 

DeWitt, 119, 12”. 

Digby, Sir Kenelm, 27, 222. 

-, George, see Earl of Bristol. 

-, Francis, [son of the Earl of Bris¬ 
tol] 178. 

-, Lady Venetia, beauty of, 27, 222. 

Dillon, Viscount, 338. 

-, Viscountess, [Frances Hamilton] 

334, 338 ; tradition of her castle of 
Laughlin, 338. 

-, Arthur, guillotined, 338 ; his 

daughter, Countess Bertrand, ib. 

Dorchester, Countess of, 291. 

Dorset, Earl of, [Lord Buckliurst] re¬ 
signs Nell Gwynn for his earldom, 152, 
153; marries the Countess of Fal¬ 
mouth, [Elizabeth Bagot] 218; and 
secondly, Lady Mary Compton, 219. 

Dry den, characters of his plays, 34 ; 
genius of, 37; his Monody on the death 
of Charles II., 74 ; his “Conquest of 
Granada,” 152; his interests recom¬ 
mended to Rochester, 162 ; poetry of, 
84, 129, 132, 151, 178, 293, 325. 

Dutch, their action off Southwold-bay 
with the Earl of Sandwich, 58 ; actions 
at sea, 129 ; resist the power of Louis 
XIV., 273. 

Evelyn, his Diary, 30, 31, 34, 90, 214, 
237, 242, 254, 276, 330 ; singular ad¬ 
venture of, 123 ; his account of Lord 
Ossory, 131, 132 ; of the Countess of 
Sunderland, 241, 247; letter from him 
to that lady, 242 ; visits the Duchess 
of Portsmouth, 278. 

Falmouth, Berkeley Earl of, 107, 113; 


married to Miss Bagot, 215, 216 ; 
killed in action, 217. 

Fielding, Beau, marries the Duchess of 
Cleveland, 89 ; is prosecuted for bi¬ 
gamy, ib. 

Fontenelle, his censorship of the press, 
115. 

Fountaine, Sir Andrew, 223. 

Fox, Sir Stephen, 242, 279. 

French language fashionable at the Eng¬ 
lish Court, 34. 

-intrigue, treaties, &c. 57, 97, 99, 

266, 267, 273, 277, 281, 283, 287. 

Gainsborough, truth and vigour of his 
portraits, 49. 

Grafton, Duke of, [Henry Fitzroy] valour 
of, 90 ; killed at the siege of Cork, 
91 ; his Duchess, [Isabella, daughter of 
Harry Bennett, Earl of Arlington] 90. 

Grammont, Chevalier de, quotations from 
the “ Memoirs” of the, 28,31, 114, 

138 ; describes Catherine and her Por¬ 
tuguese ladies, 62 ; mediates between 
the King and Lady Castlemaine, 88; 
his courtship of Elizabeth Hamilton, 
104; his rivals described, 106, 107, 
112; his predictions fulfilled, 113, 
114; recalled from exile, 113; succeeds 
his brother as Count de Grammont, 
114; particulars relative to, 114, 115 ; 
his interview with Fontenelle, 115; his 
illness, 116; his death, ib. ; poetical 
epistle of St. Evremond to, 118; 
various allusions to, 178,180, 195, 196, 
202, 212, 223 ; pays his addresses to 
Mrs. Middleton, 254. 

--, Elizabeth, Countess de, [La 

Belle Hamilton] her high character, 
28, 41, 102 ; in great favour at Court, 
103 ; described bv De Grammont, 104 ; 
letter of Charles II., relative to, 113 ; 
appointed Dame du Palais at Versailles, 
114; her influence with her husband, 
116; account of her daughters, ib.; 
portrait of, 117; allusions to, 317, 

31 9, &c. 

Guitar much in fashion, 40. 

Gwynn, Nell, recollections of, 146; her 
frankness, 148; ill education of, ib.; 
her character its own apology, 146— 
148; her birth, 149; brought on the 
stage by Lacy and Hart, 150 ; her po¬ 
pularity, ib.; her dramatic characters, 
151 ; her intimacy with Lord Buck- 
hurst, 152 ; her performance of “Alma- 















INDEX. 


345 


hide,” ib. ; Charles II. becomes ena¬ 
moured of her, 153; appointed a lady 
to the Queen, ib.; her wit and gaiety, 
154; disinterestedness and generosity 
of, 1 55 ; a favourite of the people, ib. ; 
example of vivacity in the King’s pre¬ 
sence, 157; good conduct after his 
death, ib.; her children named Beau- 
clerc, 158; anecdote of, ib.; family 
history of, 159 ; her goodness of heart 
and beauty, ib. ; her portrait by Lely, 
160 ; further remarks on her life, ib. ; 
anecdotes of her and Charles II., 162, 
163; her charity, 164; her patriotic 
persuasions, ib. ; held in contempt at 
Court, not having a title like other 
favourites, 280. 

Hamilton, James, first Duke, beheaded, 
224. 

-, William, second Duke, mor¬ 
tally wounded at Worcester, 224. 

-, Sir George, a distinguished 

partisan of Charles I., 103, 299 ; his 
sons and daughters, 103. 

• -, La Belle : see De Grammont. 

-, Count Anthony, facts recorded 

by him in the Memoirs of De Gram¬ 
mont, 113, 176, 190, 193, 314, 317, 
&c. 

• -, his younger brother George, 

177 ; his admiration of Lady Chester¬ 
field, 192, 194; advises the Earl to 
remove her from Court, 195 ; her re¬ 
venge, 196; marries Frances Jennings, 
329 ; is knighted by Charles II, ib.; 
created a Count by Louis XIV.; and 
slain in his wars, 330; his children, 
334, 338. 

Hampton Court gallery of Beauties, 45. 

Haro, Don Louis de, gives offence to 
Charles II., who dismisses this Spanish 
ambassador, 56, 57. 

Hart, the celebrated actor, 88, 149, 151. 

Herbert, Lord, quotation from, 104. 

Hertford, Algernon, Earl of, 170. 

Hewit, Sir George, 110. 

Hobart, Miss, 214. 

Holland, Earl of, 121. 

Hollis, Lord, high character of, 284. 

Howard, Miss, visit of the King to, 283, 
322. 

Hudson, stiffness and insipidity of his 
portraits, 48, 49. 

Iluysman, John, the eminent portrait- 
painter, 44, 236. 


Hyde, Anne: see Duchess of York, and 
her father Lord Clarendon. 

-, Henry, [Lord Cornbury and Earl 

of Clarendon] 202, 208. 

-, Laurence, Earl of Rochester, 202, 

203. 

-, Lady Catherine, [Duchess of 

Queensbury] 209. 

James II. when Duke of York, 32, 143, 
&c. ; his admiration of Miss Hamilton, 
106 ; his affection for Lady Denham, 
138, 140; his attentions to Lady Ches¬ 
terfield, 1 92 ; Philip Earl of Chester¬ 
field’s jealousy of, 195 ; his union with 
Anne Hyde recognized, 41, 55, 202, 
212; defeats the Dutch off Harwich, 
217; his love for the beautiful Countess 
of Southesk, 227 ; affair of the Duke 
and Lady Bellasys, 231, 233 ; his con¬ 
tract handed to that lady, 234 ; his 
taste superior to that of Charles II. 
233; his accession, 291; his early 
care of Miss Churchill, 314; his son 
the Duke of Berwick, ib. ; his court¬ 
ship of Miss Jennings, 318 ; his con¬ 
sort Maria d’Este, or Maria of Modena, 
208, 332 ; rise and progress of the 
Revolution during his reigu, 183, 208, 
210, 241, 244, 286, 288, 289, 311, 
312. 

Jennings, Miss Frances : see Duchess of 
Tyrconuel. 

-, Miss Sarah: see Duchess of 

Marlborough. 

Jermyn, Henry, 88, 107, 218; his duel, 
187 ; his loss of Frances Jennings, 
323—329 ; his family prospects, 324. 

Jervas, the court-painter, 47. 

Killigrew, Italian singers imported by, 
38, 39 ; a companion to the King, 
60; amusing anecdote of, 165; other 
jests, 177, 326. 

Kneller, Sir Godfrey, style of, 42 ; the 
competitor of Lely, 44 ; distinctions 
conferred on him,45 ; portraits by, ib. ; 
wit and vanity of, 4 6 ; death and monu¬ 
ment to, 47. 

Koningsmark, Count, crime of, 169; 
challenged by Cavendish, 307. 

Lacy, comedian, and Nell Gwynn, 149. 

Lawrence, Sir Thomas, peculiar merit of 
his style, 49 ; chef d’ceuvres of, 50. 













346 


INDEX. 


Lawson, Mrs., account of, 186 ; her 
connexions, 187; portrait of, 188. 

—-, Admiral Sir John, 186. 

-, Sir John, of Brough, 187. 

Lee, Nathaniel, the dramatic poet, 148,179. 

Lely, Sir Peter, 27; account of, 41; 
painted the Windsor Beauties, 41, 142; 
his style defended, 42 ; historical paint¬ 
ings by, 43 ; crayons, ib.; his marriage 
and knighthood, ib.; his death, ib.; his 
portraits of Queen Catherine, 75 ; of 
Miss Hamilton, 117; of the Duchess 
of Somerset, 167; of Lady Chester¬ 
field, 198; of Lady Rochester, 209 ; of 
Miss Bagot, 219 ; of Lady Sunderland, 
251 ; of Mrs. Middleton, 258 ; of the 
Duchessof Portsmouth and Charles II., 
293. 

Limerick, William III. raises the siege 
of, 336 ; its capitulation, ib. 

Lichfield, Countess of, [Charlotte Fitz- 
roy] 91. 

Louis XIV., 57 ; illness of, 97 ; his policy, 
99 ; why he banished De Grammont, 
113; his message to him when ill, 116; 
his overture toLordOssory, 129; bribes 
Montague, 266 ; his revocation of 
the Edict of Nantes, 267 ; his project 
against Holland, 273; grants the duchy 
of Aubignv to Charles II.’s French 
mistress, 277 ; allusion to, 281 ; his 
treaty with Charles II., 283 ; his design 
on the Duchy of Luxembourg, 287; 
threatens to betray Charles II., 288 ; 
his conduct on the death of Henrietta, 
Duchess of Orleans, 297, 299. 

Lyttelton, Lady, 316. 

-, the celebrated Lord, 316. 

Macky, Spring, extracts from his ‘ Me¬ 
moirs,’ 136, 171, 200, 303. 

Maria d’Este, Queen of James II., 208, 
332. 

Marlborough, Duke of, his obligations to 
Lady Castlemaine, 87; his ingratitude 
to her while in disgrace, ib.; his friend¬ 
ship for the Earl of Sunderland, 249 ; 
marriage of his daughter Anne Churchill 
to Lord Spencer, ib.; his sister Arabella 
Churchill, 314, 315 ; he marries Sarah 
Jennings, 317; his interview with 
Frances Jennings, the widow of the 
Duke of Tyrconnel, 337. 

--, Sarah, Duchess of, 211; 

friendship of Queen Anne for, 248 ; 
ambitious career of, 337. 


Marriage a la Mode, Dryden’s comedy 
of, 34. 

Martial, French glover, alluded to by Mo- 
liere, 105, 214, 

Marvel, Andrew, verses by, 34 ; letter of, 
84 ; satire by, 280. 

Mary II., Queen, 158, 247, 312. 

Mazarin, Duchess of, [Ilortense Mancini] 
portrait of, 26 : her house at Chelsea, 
255 ; her views with regard to Charles 
II., 279 ; her love for the Prince of 
Monaco, 280. 

-, Cardinal, 279. 

Melfort, Lord, letters from, 333. 

Melo, Don Francisco de, ambassador 
from Portugal, 54. 

Middleton, Mrs., 43 ; portraits of, by 
Lely, 252, 257 ; her father, Sir Roger 
Needham, 252; receives billets from 
De Grammont, 253 ; sarcastic verses 
of St. Evremond relative to, 256. 

Monmouth, Duke of, 290, 306; portrait 
of, 45. 

Montagu, Edward, 69. 

Montague, Ralph, ambassador at Paris, 
[afterwards Duke of J 95 ; complained 
of, 96; intrigue of, 254 ; personal 
description of, 262 ; his courtship of 
Lady Northumberland, ib. ; their mar¬ 
riage, 264; builds Montague-House, 
[the British Museum] 265; politics of, 
266 ; his perfidy against Danby, ib. ; 
promotes the Revolution, 268; created 
an Earl, ib.; his mansion at Boughton, 
269; his marriage with Lady Elizabeth 
Cavendish, 270; curious anecdotes re¬ 
lative to, 270, 276, 284, 307. 

Montespan, Madame de, her elevation, 
274, 281, 285. 

Morland, Sir Samuel, his house atVaux- 
hall, 80. 

Muskerry, Lady, her eccentric character, 
103, 108, 112. 

•-, Lord, 108, 111; killed in 

action off Harwich, 217. 

Nassau, Louis of, titles and posterity of, 
119. 

Newcastle, Duchess of, 108, 111. 

Ninon de l’Enclos, 116 ; parallel of her 
humour with that of Nell Gwyun, 148. 

Nokes, the stage buffoon, 153. 

Norfolk, Duke of, 107, 113. 

Northumberland, Josceline, Earl of, 168. 

-, Countess of, [Elizabeth 

Howard] 168. 










INDEX. 


.347 


Northumberland, Countess of, [Elizabeth 
Wriothesley] 28, 259; her family 
connexions, ib ; her marriage, 260; 
accompanies the Earl to France, 261 ; 
John Locke her physician, ib. ; takes 
the title of Countess of Montague, 268; 
dies at Bougliton, 269 ; her son John 
Duke of Montague, ib. ; her portrait, 
270 : see Montague. 

• -, Duke of, [George 

Fitzroy] an extinct peerage, 91. 

-, estates and title of, 

their descent ,171. 

Nott, Mrs., portrait of, 220 ; her family, 

222 . 

Oates and Bedloe accuse Queen Catherine 
of a participation in the Popish plot, 72. 
Opera, Italian, introduced, 38. 

Orleans, Duke of, 295, 297, 301. 

• -, Henrietta, Duchess of, [Madame 

d’Angleterre] letter from Charles II. 
to her, 113; escorted to Dunkirk by 
Louis XIY. and his Court, 274; her 
interview at Dover with Charles II., 
ib.; her treaty with Louis XIV. ib. ; 
her death by poison, 275 ; like fate of 
her daughter, the Queen of Spain, 281; 
her affection for Charles II., 296 ; 
letters relative to her death, 296 — 302. 
Orleans, Mademoiselle d’, 100. 

Ormond, Earl of, his dispute with the 
Earl of Leicester, 131. 

-, James, the great Duke of, offends 

Lady Castlemaine, 83 ; his sister, 103; 
family connections of the Butlers, 119; 
his high character, 120; his union with 
the heiress of the house of Desmond, 
ib. ; his many adventures, ib. ; his 
fortune, 120, 126; Colonel Blood’s at¬ 
tempt on his life, 130: his admirable 
letters on his son Lord Ossory’s death, 
132, 134; on his daughter’s, 199 ; on 
Lady Ossory’s, 206 ; his daughter 
Mary, Duchess of Devonshire, 304 ; 
he was Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, ib.; 
his palace of Kilkenny-Castle. 

-, Duchess of, her family, 120 ; 

her union with Duke James, 122 ; ge¬ 
nerous temper of, 123, 126 ; her inter¬ 
view with Cromwell, 124; her daughter 
Elizabeth, Countess of Chesterfield, 189. 

-, James, Duke of, grandson of the 

great Duke, history and impeachment 
of, 133, 136. 

Ossory, Earl of, his marriage, 119, 126; 


committed to the Tower by Cromwell, 
124; set at liberty, 125; anecdote of 
him by Evelyn, 124 ; portraiture of, 
125; his return to England, 127 ; his 
valour, 128; public services of, ib. ; 
his quarrel with Buckingham, 130 ; his 
death, 132; his children, 133; allusions 
to him, 281, &c. 

Ossory, Countess of, [Emilie of Nassau] 
28, 119; her marriage, ib.; her sweet¬ 
ness of temper, 127 ; her’s and the 
Earl’s history, 128, 129. 

-, Earl of, (grandson to the great 

Duke of Ormond,) marries Lady Anne 
Hyde, 205 ; her death, ib. ; his second 
Countess, 206. 

Painting, art of, 25, 27, 41 ; Sir P. Lely, 
41 ; Wissing, 44 ; Kneller, ib.; Huys- 
man, ib.; Jervas, 47 ; Dahl, 48; Ri¬ 
chardson and Hudson, ib. ; Gainsbo¬ 
rough, 49 ; Sir Joshua Reynolds, ib.; 
Hoppner, ib.; Sir Thomas Lawrence, 
ib. 

Pembroke, Philip Earl of, 292. 

Penalva, Countess of, 62. 

Pepvs, ‘Diary’ of, 30, 31, 61, 69, 70, 72, 
81, 83, 89, 92, 94, 139, 150, 152, 
183, 195, 217, 228, 239, 322, 327. 

Peveril of the Peak, by Sir W. Scott, 
283. 

Pope, his flattery of Sir Godfrey Kneller, 
46; of Jervas, 47, 48; illustration of 
a verse of, 185, 209. 

Popish Plot, the, 72, 286. 

Portsmouth, Duchess of, her power over 
Charles II., 89, 155 ; letter concerning, 
97, 98 ; De Sevigne contrasts her with 
Nell Gwynn, 156; her son created 
Duke of Richmond, 179; her character 
and political influence, 271, 277; her 
maiden name, 272; her reception at 
Court, 276 ; her son, 277 ; her titles 
of nobility, ib.; well received by the 
court ladies, 280 ; her jewels, 281 ; her 
insolent behaviour, 282 ; intrigues in 
favour of the designs of Louis XIV., 
283, 287 ; her mind and disposition, 
285 ; advice given to by the Earl of 
Sunderland, 289; her behaviour on 
the King’s death, 290 ; retires to 
France, 291 ; revisits England, ib. ; 
dies at an advanced age in Paris, 292 ; 
her sister the Countess of Pembroke, 
ib. ; portraits of, 293; her pretended 
marriage, 294. 














.348 


INDEX. 


Portugal, John Duke of Braganza, 53 ; 
menaced by Spain, 56 ; Alphonso YI. 
deposed by his brother Pedro, 72. 

Price, Miss, 112, 213, 322, 325, 327. 

Ranelagh, Lord, [Richard Jones] 254. 

Raphael, epitaph by Cardinal Bembo on, 
47. 

Reynolds, Sir Joshua, 49. 

Rich, Lady Isabella, 121, 123. 

Richmond, Duchess of, her sarcasm on 
Lady Castlemaine, 89. 

-, Duchess of, [Mary Yilliers] 

187. 

-, Duchess of, [Anne Brudenell] 

235. 

-, Duchess of, [Miss Frances 

Stewart] affection of Charles II. for 
her, 69, 70 ; court intrigues to favour 
her, 70 ; her influence with the merry 
monarch, 88; her charms, 93, 175; 
her character portrayed, 173; friend¬ 
ship for, and subsequent rivality with 
Lady Castlemaine, 174; her many 
admirers, Buckingham, Digby, Hamil¬ 
ton, the Duke of Richmond, 176—179; 
also the King, 180 ; marries the Duke 
of Richmond, 181—183; quits the 
Court, 184 ; illness of, ib. ; returns to 
Court, ib. ; her will, 185 ; her estates, 
ib.; portrait of, at Windsor, ib. ; fur¬ 
ther allusions to, 317, 320. 

--, Charles Duke of, 93; his pro¬ 
posal to Miss Hamilton, 106 ; of the 
house of Stuart, 179 ; his adventure at 
Miss Stewart’s, 181 ; his marriage with 
that lady, 181 — 183; his death, 277. 

-, Duke of, [Charles Lennox] 

created Duke by Charles II. 179, 277; 
changes the mode of wearing the ribbon 
of the order of the Garter, 286 ; his 
Duchess and their children, 291 ; he 
declares for the religion and constitu¬ 
tion of England, 303. 

Rochester, Earl of, [John Wilmot] and 
Nell Gwynn, 162, 203; pretends to be 
an astrologer, and is much consulted, 
324-327. 

-, Earl of, [Laurence Hyde] 

202 ; his honours, 203 ; his medita¬ 
tions on his daughter’s death, 206; his 
politics, 208 ; his death, ib.; further 
account of, 210 ; his letter to Ormond, 
211 . 

-, Countess of, [Lady Henrietta 

Boyle] her ancestry, 201 ; her mar¬ 


riage, 202; her domestic character, 
203 ; delicate health of, 204 ; she 
laments her daughter’s death, 206 ; 
her speech to Queen Maria, 208 ; her 
death, ib.; portrait of, 209. 

Roos, Lord, divorce-bill of, 72. 

Rotier, Philippe, the medallist, 179. 

Rupert, Prince, his expedition to Guinea, 
328. 

Russell, Lord, execution of, 243 ; attain¬ 
der reversed, 268 ; the Earl of Bed¬ 
ford’s endeavour to save his son, 286 ; 
his advice to Cavendish, 308 ; letter 
of his daughter, 311. 

-, Lady, character of, 126, 237 ; 

her life and correspondence, 248, 264, 
267; her sister the Countess of Nor¬ 
thumberland, 259, 260, 268, 269. 

St. Albans, Charles first Duke of, his bra¬ 
very, 158 ; his children, 159. 

-, Duchess of, Diana de Yere, 

daughter of Aubrey, Earl of Oxford, 
159. 

Sandwich, Earl of, 40, 57; high charac¬ 
ter of, 58; his victories and death, ib.; 
his account of the nuptials of Charles 
II., 60 ; withdraws from the Queen’s 
interests, 69. 

Sedley, love songs of, 37. 

Sevigne, Madame de, 114, 156, 276, 
319. 

Shakspeare, sonnet of, 146; his great 
nephew, Hart, the comedian, 149. 

Sheldon, Dr., Bishop of London, 60. 

Shrewsbury, Countess of, 284. 

Somerset, Duke of, [Charles Seymour] 
‘the Proud,’ 169—172. 

—--, Elizabeth, Duchess of, her 

marriages, 168, 169 ; her children, 
170, 171 ; portrait of, 43, 171* 

Sourches, Marquis de, Memoirs of, 291. 

Southampton, Lord Treasurer, 260 ; his 
opposition to Lady Castlemaine, 89. 

Soutliesk, Robert Earl of, 225; character 
of, 226 ; his unhappy marriage, ib. 

-, Countess of, her portrait, 223 ; 

severe censure of, ib.; her father slain 
in Charles II.’s service, 224 ; her ac¬ 
quaintance with Lady Castlemaine, 
225 ; her marriage with Lord Carnegie, 
[Earl of Southesk] 226 ; her ill con¬ 
duct at court, ib. ; her lord’s jealousy, 
ib. ; her sons, 228. 

Spencer, Lord, [son of the Earl of Sun¬ 
derland] 244, 249; his marriage with 
















INDEX. 


040 


Lady Anne Churchill, 250; their sons, 
251. 

St. Evremond, observations, verses, &c. 
by, 26, 105, 107, 112, 118, 255—25 7, 
276. 

Stewart, "Walter, Esq., loyalty of, 173; 
his daughter, Miss Stewart, see Frances, 
Duchess of Richmond. 

Sunderland, Henry first Earl of, killed at 
Newbury, 239. 

-, second Earl of, [Robert 

Spencer] unhappy career of, 238—241; 
his marriage, 240 ; his children, 242; 
the ancestor of the Duke of Marl¬ 
borough and Earl Spencer, ib.; pro¬ 
scribed and in misfortune, 244 ; his 
discontent and death, 251 ; political 
measures of, 288. 

-, third Earl of, and Secretary 

of State, 251 ; his patriotism and in¬ 
tegrity, ib. 

-, Countess of, [Dorothy Sid¬ 
ney] 26, 237, 255. 

-, Countess of, [Anne Digby] 

her character, 237 ; her family con¬ 
nexions, 238 ; charity of, 241 ; her 
filial piety, 243 ; her letter to William 
III., 245 ; to Evelyn, 246 ; other let¬ 
ters of, 249, 250; her death, 251 ; 
portrait of by Lely, ib. 

Sussex, Countess of, [Anne Palmer Fitz- 
roy] 91, 96, 99, 100. 

Swift, Dean, 89, 172, 200, 235, 303. 

Sydney, Algernon, execution of, 243. 

Tangier, acquisition of, by Charles II. 
55 ; affair of, 131. 

Tatler, the, 89. 

Temple, Sir William, 95, 98, 307. 

-, Miss, 315, 316. 

Tennison, Archbishop, 157. 

Test Act, its proviso in favour of Queen 
Catherine, 282. 

Theatre ;—actresses that first appeared 
on the London Stage, 150; Nell 
Gwynn, 150, 151, 153; French com¬ 
pany imported, 292 ; Drury-lane, and 
Bow-street, 325; the Duke’s House, ib. 

Thornhurst, Sir Gifford, Bart., 317. 

Thynne, Thomas, Esq., murder of, 169, 
306, 307. 

Tyrconnel, Duke of, [Richard Talbot] his 
untoward meeting with Lord Southesk, 
227 ; a steady adherent to the Stuarts, 
320 ; valour and eminent qualities of, 
ib. ; his courtship of Frances Jennings, 


321 ; his sudden jealousy and tempo¬ 
rary loss of her, 322 ; he meets her in 
France, 331 ; his marriage, ib.; com¬ 
mands for James II. in Ireland before 
and after the downfall of that monarch, 
332 ; viceroy, 333 ; is defeated at the 
river Boyne, 334 ; wounded, ib.; he 
still maintains the Stuart cause, 335 ; 
dies by poison, ib. ; succeeded by 
Sarsfield in his command, 336. 

Tyrconnel, Duchess of, [daughter of 
Richard Jennings Esq.] 314, 316; 
repulses the suit of James, Duke of 
York, 318; her fame attracts the 
notice of Charles II., 319 ; courted by 
Richard Talbot, 320 ; and by Jermyn, 
323 ; wishes to consult a very clever 
astrologer, 325—327 ; dismisses the 
suit of Jermyn, 328; marries George 
Hamilton, 329; becomes a widow, 
330, 331 ; turns Catholic, 331 ; mar¬ 
riages of her daughters by Hamilton, 
333, 338 ; accompanies Tyrconnel to 
Ireland, 332—334 ; her dignified re¬ 
ception [as vice-queen] in Dublin, of 
the defeated James, 334 ; her poverty 
after the dispersion of the court of St. 
Germain’s, 336; her milliner’s shop 
at the Royal Exchange, London, ib. ; 
her white mask, 337 ; establishes a 
convent of Poor Clares in Dublin, ib.; 
her miserable death, ib. ; her daugh¬ 
ter the Princess of Vintimiglia, ib. ; 
her daughter Lady Dillon, 338; her 
portrait, ib. 

Vandyke, portrait by, 26 ; his marriage, 
43 ; his style, 117. 

Vendome, the Grand-Prieur de, 289. 

Villiers, Sir William, [Viscount Grandi- 
son] mortally wounded at Bristol, 79 ; 
his beautiful daughter Barbara Villiers, 
see Duchess of Cleveland. 

Virtue, female, the court a test of, 29. 

Wakeman, Sir George, physician to 
Charles II., 73. 

Waller, poetry of, 68, 143, 237. 

Walpole, Horace, observations and anec¬ 
dotes by, 27, 42, 48, 209, 223, 230, 
231, 235, 293, 336. 

Warton, remark of, 185. 

Wells, Miss, a favourite at court, 88. 

Whigs, power of the, 285, 308. 

William III., a patron of Kneller, 45; 
and of Dahl, the painter, 48 ; allusions 










350 


INDEX. 


to, 133, 136 ; the English Revolution in 
his reign, 172, 208, 210, 244, 249, 
311, 333 ; he besieges Limerick, 335. 

Windsor Castle, the Gallery of Beauties 
in, 27, 92, 117, 134, 142, 185, 186, 
188, 209, 221, 223, 230, 235, 251, 
254, 270. 

Wissing, the Dutch painter, 41, 44, 134, 
188. 

Withers, George, the poet, 145. 

Women, occupations and amusements 
worthy their attention, 322. 


Wycherly, the dramatic writer, 87. 

Yarborough, Sir Thomas, and his lady, 
214. 

York, Duchess of, [Anne Hyde] particu¬ 
lars of her union with James, Duke of 
York, 41, 55,103, 141, 202,212, 314, 
317, 319, 322, 324,325 ; turns Catho¬ 
lic, 331. 

Young, Dr. Edward, Author of the ‘Night 
Thoughts,’ marries a grand-daughter 
of Charles II., 91. 


THE END. 


G. NOItMAN, PRINTER, MAIDEN LANE, COVENT GARDEN. 




PORTRAITS AND MEMOIRS 


QUEEN CATHERINE OF BRAGANZA 
THE DUCHESS OF CLEVELAND 
THE COUNTESS DE GRAMMONT . 

THE COUNTESS OF OSSORY . 

LADY DENHAM . 

NELL GWYNN 

THE DUCHESS OF SOMERSET 
THE DUCHESS OF RICHMOND 
MRS. LAWSON 

THE COUNTESS OF CHESTERFIELD . 
THE COUNTESS OF ROCHESTER . 

MISS BAGOT .... 
MRS. NOTT 

THE COUNTESS OF SOUTHESK 
LADY BELLASYS . 

THE COUNTESS OF SUNDERLAND . 
MRS. MIDDLETON 

THE COUNTESS OF NORTHUMBERLAND 
THE DUCHESS OF PORTSMOUTH 
THE DUCHESS OF DEVONSHIRE 
MISS JENNINGS . 


PAGE 

53 

78 

102 

119 

138 

14G 

167 

173 

186 

189 

201 

212 

220 

223 

230 

237 

252 

259 

271 

304 

314 


















